


A Day in the Life of 221B

by ProbablyCryingAboutMyShips341



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Firsts, Hugs and cuddles and kisses and all that cute shit, I Don't Even Know, John Loves Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Proposals, Sherlock Loves John, Smut, johnlock sex, otp prompts, so much fluff oh god, they are a family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-10 20:29:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablyCryingAboutMyShips341/pseuds/ProbablyCryingAboutMyShips341
Summary: This is a JohnLock fanfic. There will be one chapter pretty much everyday. Each day is a different prompt. This is my first fanfic and it's also the first time I've posted my own writing. The chapters are relatively unrelated though that may change every once in a while. DO NOT HATE PLEASE. Not only is hating on me completely pointless because I will be writing this everyday anyway, it's also rude. Don't be rude. Please. I do like constructive criticism though. If you like what I am writing, tell me, if you don't tell me what you didn't like and any ideas you might have on how I can be better. If you do like my writing then give me a prompt if you have one and I'll see what we can do! Thank you I hope you enjoy this.





	1. Date Night

“Come on, John!” Sherlock mumbled impatiently while sticking one arm through his signature coat. 

“Oi! Little legs, you git! I’m coming!” John huffed as he began awkwardly jogging around the flat to meet his lover by the door.

They walked down the stairs of 221, Sherlock in front, stopping to smile affectionately at John after opening the door. He extended his hand which John gladly took. They walked silently, hand in hand, to the new Mexican restaurant that only opened a few weeks prior. It was mid-September, the weather was gorgeous, not too hot, not too cold, just gorgeous. 

*********

They arrived at their destination about 20 minutes later. 

“Reservation for 2. Holmes.” 

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. Follow me, please.” The host gave them both a polite smile and led them to their table booth in the back of the restaurant. “Your waiter will be with you shortly. Enjoy your meal.” 

“Thank you,” John softly smiled up at the host and Sherlock nodded his head. 

The host walked away and greeted another family. A husband and wife, three kids, two boys and one girl. The parents had been married for roughly seven years; the husband is cheating on her with her sister, no. Not her sister. Her brother, yes, her brother. And – what is that? Oh. Oh. “John! John! That woman is having sexual relations with her boss… Oh, John, don’t be surprised, he is clearly shagging her brother every weekend while he pretends to be out golfing with his college friends.”

Though the chances of John admitting it is extremely low, he loves to hear his detective deduce. “How do you figure that, love?” he asked, admiration clear in his tone.

“Well, she hasn’t stopped nagging him since they arrived – unhappy with her choice of spouse but they aren’t in an ongoing argument. He doesn’t mind. Anymore. He stopped caring about her insistent complaining which means he’s found something else to occupy his mind and time – cheating. It’s with someone she is close to though, but not a female. He hasn’t looked at a female body in the 12 minutes and 37 seconds since he entered the building, but he has looked at the host, a waiter, the bartender, and a fellow diner with something you could call lust, within that time – sexual identity right there. Someone close to her, not a female, father died when she was a teenager from alcohol, so it can’t be him– it’s her brother. She has done her fair share of shagging a male that she shouldn’t have as well. She hasn’t touched her husband, she’s been staring at her phone, giggling and blushing, not from a friend, obviously. She hasn’t paid attention to a word her husband has said. She doesn’t get out much, she has three young children, but she clearly has a job; an office job, going by her attire, the way she walks, her hair, the way she holds herself, and by how fast she types on that little device of hers. Only place she doesn’t go with her children is to her job, which is where her boss, of course, shags her in the bathroom during their lunch break.” He spit his deductions so fast that it was almost impossible to understand what he was saying.

John had a look of awe on his face, “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Wonderful job, baby.” He smiled a kind, sincere, amiable smile and Sherlock blushed under his gaze. 

“Thank you, John.”

“Not a problem, love.” He whispered softly as he leaned over the table to give his boyfriend a short, sweet kiss. 

Both men ordered and as they awaited their food, neither could stop smiling, blushing, giggling, and staring. Neither said a word, it wasn’t necessary to. Words couldn’t express the love that filled the consulting detectives’ eyes, and nothing could express the joy and complete adoration the doctor felt. 

The restaurant had a charming, comfortable atmosphere. It was quite nice, definitely no Angelo’s but that was an impossible standard to live up to. There were candles on the table and soothing music played softly in the background. 

The food was fine, maybe even great, Sherlock and John had no way of knowing, in fact they didn’t pay attention to anything besides each other. Sherlock couldn’t focus on anything besides Johns small, rough hand resting on his thigh, occasionally sliding just an inch or two higher only to rest again. The delicate drumming of his fingers on his inner thigh nearly drove Sherlock insane. 

They finished their meal and were nursing a cheesecake with raspberry drizzle and a dollop of whipped cream, which John dipped his finger in and wiped across Sherlock's cheek, getting a heavy chuckle from his date. 

“John.” Sherlock looked up, setting down his forkful of cheesecake.

“Yes, love?”

John’s hand began to start slowly caressing Sherlock’s thigh. Something changed in Sherlock's eyes and John knew exactly what he needed. 

“John…” 

“I know. Come on, baby, let’s go home.”

They paid, left the restaurant, and in too big of a rush to walk, hailed a cab back to 221B. Sherlock, basically bouncing with excitement, tumbled with, and eventually cursed at, his keys before unlocking the door to their flat, drawing a chuckle from John. 

Finally opening the door, Sherlock wasted no time in grabbing John by his hips and pinning him against the back side of the door. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Slow down there, you big git.”

“No time, John! Why would we even consider slowing down? This is by far the worst idea that you’ve ever thought of. Are you alright? John. John, stop laughing and look at me. Are you dying? Is that what it is? Are you dying? Or are you just slow? John. Do answer me, John. Idiot.”

John was now bursting out laughing. The look of arousal, excitement, then confusion, concern, confusion again, and then annoyance and embarrassment that flashed over Sherlock's features was enough to make anyone pee themselves with laughter.

John, finally settling down, grabbed Sherlock by the hands, removing them from around his waist, and brought them up to his lips. “You beautiful, gorgeous, unbelievable creature. Get your arse over here.”

Sherlock let a mischievous smile spread across his face before crashing his lips against Johns. John let out a small, desperate moan as Sherlock pushed his thigh in between John’s legs. Their kiss was deep, passionate, full of lust and longing; so sweet, so tender, but at the same time hard and rough and… absolutely perfect. John loved these kinds of kisses, he loved it when Sherlock let himself go, completely invading John’s mouth with his tongue, teeth ever so often nibbling at his lower lip just so he could run his tongue over it again. To be honest, John loved every single kiss the two had shared. The soft, close mouthed kisses the two would give each other after waking up side by side every morning, the passionate ones like this, the quick kiss John would place on his forehead when he was in his mind palace or using his microscope. He loved the ones that occurred after a couple drinks, the slow, burning kisses that undoubtedly lead to something more, but are too amazing to rush. John and 

Sherlock alike loved every single moment that their lips touched any part of the others body. 

Sherlock untangled his hands from John’s and placed one in his hair, the other snaked around his waist, pulling him in even closer. “Mmm. John,” Sherlock tried, releasing Johns lips just to have his hand fly up to those beautiful curls and bring him down again. “John,” another kiss. “We should...” another kiss. Sherlock reluctantly pulled back, refusing to cave even when John pulled his head back down again.

John grunted in frustration. “We should what? If you say slow down, I will kill you right here and right now.” 

Sherlock giggled at that. “John. I was going to say we should move this to my bed but if you’d rather have sex against a door…” Sherlock smiled a dark, sneaky smile and leaned in, whispering by Johns ear, “Well, that could be very easily arranged.” 

“Oh, god.” John was now on his tiptoes yanking Sherlock down for an impossibly teasing kiss, drawing a moan from the detective. “Let’s go.” 

Sherlock stepped back and allowed his doctor to grab his hand and lead him into their shared bedroom.

John wasted absolutely no time shoving Sherlock's coat off his shoulders, hands flying to undo the buttons of that damned purple shirt. It wasn’t long before things really started heating up. John had broken their kiss and started sucking on the soft skin of Sherlock's neck and shoulders. The delightful sting of a bite on his collarbone immediately followed by the soothing, hot wetness of John’s tongue   
had the detective gasping and moaning, the sound like heaven to the doctor’s ears. 

We can safely say that if Mrs. Hudson had been home on this eventful night, she would likely have kicked them both out for the sinful sounds escaping flat 221B. 

*********

“That… was incredible,” John panted, falling back on the bed, giggling like mad.

Sherlock let out a hum of agreement. He laid laughing as well as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Sherlock?” John whispered so quietly it was barely audible. 

Sherlock turned onto his side to look at John’s face, “Yes, John?”

“I love you. So, so much,” Sherlock smiled softly and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off, “I don’t say it anywhere near as often as I should, but I need you to know. Every minute of every day I think about you. I think about what you’re doing and who you’re helping. I think about the way you deduce things that people at the Yard could never notice, even if they went out of their way to try. I think about this strand of your gorgeous, curly hair,” John lifted his hand from where it rested on Sherlock's hip and moved a misplaced piece of hair from his forehead and smoothed it back, “and how it falls in front of your eyes. I think about the way your entire face lights up when you connect two pieces of the puzzle and draw everything together when we work on a case. I think about the way you say my name, and how if I get up in the middle of the night to use the loo, even in your sleep, you grab me and bring me back down. I think about your laugh and how you giggle when I kiss you behind your ear. Right…” John moved and pressed an excruciatingly soft kiss to the underside of Sherlock’s right ear, causing him to squirm and giggle, withdrawing a hearty guffaw from John. “Right there. I think about how much I miss you when you’re gone and count the seconds until I can see you again. I love you so much that sometimes it physically hurts. You are my everything, my entire world, and I don’t want to go one day without you by my side.” They both had tears in their eyes as John sat up, leaned behind him, opened his bedside table drawer and pulled out a small, black velvet box, and watched as Sherlock’s eyes widened so much that he was concerned they might pop out of his skull. 

The doctor held onto the box as he slid off the side of the bed to kneel on the floor. Sherlock, crying, moved to his knees to follow John. John looked up at him with tears rolling down his cheeks, smiled softly, cleared his throat, and with shaky hands, opened the box to reveal a gorgeous gold ring.

“You found me as a broken man and made me whole again. I can’t even think about what my life would be like without you in it. And that is why I am asking you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, will you give me the absolute honor of becoming my husband? Will you marry me?”

Sherlock couldn’t breathe. He knew exactly what he wanted to say but he couldn’t get the words out. A loud, happy sob ripped through him as he collected himself and slid onto the floor in front of John. 

“Yes! God, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” Sherlock grabbed him by his neck and pulled John into one of the most beautiful kisses the two had ever shared. It was so full of love, hope, acceptance, excitement, and pure joy. They stayed there for several minutes, lips gliding passionately against the others, hands curled into hair and wrapped around necks. Sherlock broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Johns and then pulled back and stuck out his left hand impatiently, clearly motioning for John to put the ring on his finger. 

John chortled as he removed the ring from the box. He took a deep breath, took Sherlock's hands and brought it to his lips, and while still holding his hand, brought Sherlock in for another kiss as he slid the ring onto his left ring finger. Sherlock felt the coldness of the ring as it made its way onto his finger and happy sobbed as it wrapped around his long, thin finger perfectly. He deepened the kiss, relishing in this incredible moment. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you with every part of me and I can’t wait to become your husband. Thank you, John.” Sherlock whispered, looking so deeply into John’s eyes that he swore he could see his brain. 

They climbed up onto the bed and… consummated their (soon to be) marriage.


	2. Dancing the Night Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wise men say  
> Only fools   
> Rush in  
> But I can't help  
> Falling in love with you  
> John and Sherlock spend the evening together, dancing, laughing, living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! If you like it, please, please, pretty please, tell me! kudos and comments are awesome! Thank you for reading!  
> Songs are "Fly Me to the Moon" by Frank Sinatra, and "Can't Help Falling In Love" By Elvis Presley.

Fly me to the moon  
Let me play among the stars  
Let me see what spring is like   
On Jupiter and Mars  
In other words,   
Hold my hand.   
In other words,  
Baby kiss me.  
John removed his head from its resting place on Sherlocks chest and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips and then laid his head down again. They continued to sway. 

It is shortly after midnight; 29 minutes and 18 seconds after midnight, to be specific. There are candles lit around the flat, the only light source they have. Rosie lay sleeping in her crib as the two men dance in the living room. John’s old record player is playing Frank Sinatra’s classic hits. 

John’s left arm is gently wrapped around Sherlock’s neck, his right hand is holding the detectives left. Sherlock has his right arm loosely draped over John’s waist. The doctors head is resting against his fiancé’s chest, listening to his heartbeat; Sherlocks chin sits in his doctor’s silvery hair. 

Fill my heart with song  
And let me sing for ever more  
John started singing this part, looking up at Sherlock, singing quietly and sincerely.   
“You are all I long for, All I worship and adore” 

Sherlock smiled and kissed his forehead as they continue swaying. 

In other words,   
Please be true,   
In other words, 

Sherlock was the one to sing the next lyric. He planted a soft kiss into Johns hair and in his low, baritone voice, sang “I love you.”

John backed up as Sherlock grabbed his arm to spin him in a circle. John began laughing as he twirled twice and was pulled back into Sherlock’s arms to return to their original position. 

The music continued to play peacefully in the background as the soon to be husbands danced. Sherlock looked into Johns eyes and smiled an affectionate smile. How could he have been so lucky? How did he play all of his cards right to lead him to the perfect man before him? 

In other words,   
Please be true,   
In other words,  
In other words, 

The two pulled back at the same time and together, sang 

“I love… you!” Breaking into a fit of giggles and laughs, the song ended and a new one came on. No sooner than it did, a faint cry was heard from Rosie’s room. 

Rosie looked up to her dad in her room, slowly walking towards her. Sherlock bent down to pick her up while John stayed in the hallway, watching the scene. 

Rosie rested her head on Sherlock’s shoulder as he began to sway, similar to the way he had with John, and patted her back. The music could still be softly heard in the living room and Sherlock hummed along to the tune. It wasn’t long before Rosie let out a big burp, which must’ve been the cause of her sudden awakening, and fell fast to sleep in her fathers arms. 

Tears began to sting John’s eyes as he watched the scene go on. Look at them. He thought, look at them together. He didn’t think twice, he didn’t hesitate to pick her up and make her better. He loves her. I love him. I love them both so much. How could I have not seen this sooner? He’s the one. He’s always been the one. And he’s finally mine. We’re gonna get married. 

Sherlock slowly and carefully set Rosie down in her crib and quietly tip toed back to John. Noticing his tears, concern spread over his face as he asked, “John? What’s the matter? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

 

John let out a small sob as Sherlock questioned him. “No, no, baby, nothing at all. I’m sorry, I’m just being silly. Happy tears.” He sniffled before he continued on, “It’s just – it’s just seeing you with Rosie, it was so natural. It felt right, like you were meant to soothe her and dance with her. I love you. I love you so fucking much. I prayed for the day I could have you, here, with me, with Rosie, like this. I’m just so happy. You make me so happy. I love you so much, Sherlock and I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to raise our daughter with you.” 

Sherlock’s eyes were now rimmed with tears, as well. With a wavery voice, he said, “Ours? She’s ours?” The excitement in Sherlock’s voice was impossible to miss. He had practically been jumping for joy; John had never called Rosie their daughter before. 

“Yes, love. Ours. She’s yours as much as she is mine.” John smiled so bright that it had been almost blinding. He grabbed Sherlock by his neck and pulled him down into a quick kiss.

“Ours.” He repeated it to himself, as if to reassure himself that it was really true. “I love you, too, John. So much. You saved me. I wouldn’t be here, much less alive, if it weren’t for you. You make my life worth living,” he glanced back at where their beautiful little girl slept in her bumble bee crib, “and now, so does Rosie. I still can’t believe you’d choose me. I’m nothing, nothing of importance. Or at the very least, I didn’t used to be. You make me feel loved, I feel like I matter to you and Rosie. I feel like I belong here, with you, and with her. You gave me a purpose, a real purpose for life. And I am eternally grateful for that. You’re my everything. My entire world. Remember when I told you I had learned the solar system for you?”

John nodded. 

 

“Well it was wrong. The Earth doesn’t revolve around the sun, John. It revolves around you.”

John laughed, “That was the cheesiest thing I think I’ve ever heard!”

Sherlock smiled a genuine smile, “However cheesy it may be, it’s the truth.”

“You’re so fucking adorable. Get your arse down here.”

The tall detective leaned down and John captured his lips with a kiss. 

A few minutes went by and they made their way back to the living room. The songs on the record had all played through so John walked over and removed the vinyl, replacing it with another. 

The smooth music began playing and the fathers started dancing again. 

Wise men say,  
Only fools   
Rush in   
But I can’t help 

John began to sing again, “Falling in love with you.” Sherlock leaned down and John leaned up, meeting in the middle, and they kissed again. 

They danced for hours, not worrying about anything besides each other. Rosie stayed sleeping peacefully the rest of the night, leaving them alone. They alternated between quietly singing to each other, hugging, looking into each other’s eyes, smiling, and kissing. 

Take my hand  
Take my whole life, too  
For I can’t help

 

Falling in love with you.


	3. A Field Of Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John get a rather disappointing case. But, all is well in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just going to apologize now. I am so, so, SO, sorry!!! This chapter is probably absolutely awful. I had very small windows of time to write today and I really wanted to get this chapter posted. Enough excuses, yes, I know. I hope you enjoy. If you like it, please, please, pretty please, tell me! kudos and comments are awesome! Thank you for reading!

John and Sherlock woke to a screeching alarm. 

*6:15 AM*

John smacked the alarm to shut it up. He grunted and rolled onto his side to look at Sherlock.

“Mm. Morning, love.” John mumbled sleepily. 

“Good morning, John.” He whispered as he scooched closer to John. 

John was on his left side, his right hand gently draped over Sherlocks left hip. He sighed and grabbed Sherlock to stable himself as he repositioned. He moved so he was huddled up against the detective. He propped up on his left elbow, running his left hand through Sherlock’s mess of curls. He withdrew his right hand from where it rested on his lovers hip to his face, tilting it up by his chin, and leaned in to plant a quick kiss on the detectives lips. 

He smiled softly and then sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He got up, brushed his teeth and used the loo, then turned on the shower. Sherlock rose and sleepily forced himself to do his normal routine, as well. After brushing his teeth, he stripped and stepped into the shower with John. 

He heard John gasp and watched his eyes snap open. “Bloody hell, Sherlock! You scared the piss out of me.” 

Sherlock started laughing, rather hardly, to John’s dismay. He huffed as Sherlock chuckled and said, “My apologies, John… But you should’ve seen your face!” He began giggling again. 

“Oh, shut it, you big git.” He rolled his eyes and began to giggle lightly. 

They settled down and Sherlock leaned down to kiss John. It was supposed to be a quick kiss, just another “good morning” kiss. It was. But it wasn’t. It became a deep, passionate kiss almost immediately. John softly moaned as Sherlock nibbled on his lip and kissed him again. 

“Mm. Well good morning to you, too, love.” John whispered as he began to pull back. He didn’t get far, though. Sherlock snaked an arm around the doctors waist and pulled him in closer, crashing their lips together. 

Sherlock moved the hand not around John’s waist up to his hair and pulled it back, breaking the kiss and exposing John’s neck. He slowly kissed his way along his jawline, down his neck and collarbones, stopping every few moments to suck a bruise into John’s skin. He scraped his teeth along John’s collarbones, drawing a hiss from above him, and then ran his tongue over it, soothing the sting. 

The detective slid down, placing soft, close mouthed kisses down John’s torso as he dropped to his knees and was met with a very happy sight. He smiled to himself before continuing to kiss John’s thighs, moving towards the thing he knew was begging for attention. 

John let out a slightly annoyed sound and muttered “Sherlock. Please…”

Sherlock giggled and decided not to torture his poor boyfriend anymore. He took the tip of John’s dick into his mouth and began sucking. John let out a filthy moan as Sherlock sucked harder, occasionally licking a stripe down the underside. If he could’ve, Sherlock would have smiled as he watched the doctor fall apart above him. 

John quickly began to buck into Sherlock’s mouth, first causing a slight cough from the detective, but he quickly got used to the rhythm and accepted it quite willingly. John was letting out a near constant stream of moans. 

John came with a cry and slumped against the wall as Sherlock pulled off of him with a /pop/. Sherlock took himself in hand and began thrusting against his hand. A few minutes later and he released, moaning heavily as his orgasm ripped through him. John opened his eyes to watch the beauty that was Sherlock Holmes as he undid himself. Panting, he leaned against John and pressed a kiss against his temple, then his cheek, his nose, and finally, his lips. 

“I swear, you are way, way, way too good at that.” John chuckled as he squirted shampoo into his hand and massaged it into his silvery hair.

“I do try my best for you, John.” 

They finished their shower and went out to the kitchen to make breakfast. They spent the rest of their morning watching movies and playing with Rosie.

*************  
They had fallen asleep on the couch while Rosie slept in her crib. A knock at the door woke them.

“I’ll get it. Stay here.” Sherlock whispered as he stood up and stretched, then bent down to kiss John’s forehead.

“Mm. ‘Kay. Thanks, love.”

Sherlock was welcomed by the exhausted, anxious, friendly face of Detective Inspector Lestrade.

“Hello, Sherlock. I’ve got something for you.” Greg walked into the flat with a slightly worried expression on his face.

“What is it, Gavin? John and Rosie are sleeping, please do be quiet.” 

“Of course, apologies. We got a call this morning. Triple murder. Pretty gruesome from what I’ve seen in the pictures. They’re siblings. No parents, no suspects. A couple was walking around the area and saw blood scattered around the place, found ‘em lying dead. All scratched up, like they were maimed. Cuts and bruises, missing body parts, it’s… it’s pretty bad, Sherlock.” The DI sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

Sherlock walked over to his chair and quietly sat down, mindful of sleeping John, drawing his knees up under his chin. He closed his eyes as he waited for Lestrade to finish, repeating what he’d heard over and over again in his mind. He put his hands in their signature position under his chin.

“Sounds intriguing.” He whispered. Sherlock opened his eyes and they immediately began searching for John. He was curled up on the sofa, snoring softly. Sherlock smiled at him affectionately. Then, returned his gaze back to Lestrade.

Greg continued, “Can’t figure it out. We’re pretty stumped.”

“No doubt. Where?” Sherlock closed his eyes again.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, “The couple I told you about were out for a hike in Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire. They found the bodies there. I sent you the exact location before I came in.”

“Alright, Gerald. We’ll take it.” Sherlock said as he stepped out of his chair. 

The DI sighed, both annoyed and grateful. “Thank you, Sherlock. And it’s Greg, not Gerald. Or Gavin. Or Gerry. Or-”

“Yes, yes, yes, Greg, my apologies. Out.” Sherlock rushed.

“Greg? Said my name. Huh. Wait, out?” He questioned him.

“Yes, out. We will head to the crime scene soon. Bye.” Sherlock quickly walked over to him, pushing him out the door.

“Alright, alright! I’m going!” Lestrade huffed, clearly irritated.

“If you would.” 

Sherlock silently closed the door and went back over to where John was sleeping. He climbed over him, as silently as possible, and laid on his side. He gently grabbed John to bring him closer, his back against Sherlock’s chest. John hummed quietly at the movement, snuggling back into Sherlock’s arms. 

They fell fast asleep. When they woke, Sherlock explained the case to John. 

“Forest of Dean? That’s a long drive isn’t it?” John questioned as he sipped his tea. 

“Approximately 2 hours.” Sherlock replied, looking down at his phone, texting away. 

“Let’s get ready, then. I’ll pack yours and Rosie’s things, you find a hotel?”

“Yes, I’ll do that right now.” Sherlock looked up as John kissed his head.

“Thanks, love.” He began walking toward their room and started packing. 

*********

“A BEAR, JOHN? A BEAR. WE WENT ALL THIS WAY FOR A DAMN BEAR. 3 PEOPLE DEAD. FROM A BEAR. HOW DULL IS THIS, JOHN?” Sherlock complained as he entered the passenger’s seat of the car they borrowed from Mycroft. 

John, despite his best efforts not to, laughed at Sherlock’s outburst. “It’s very dull, Sherlock,” he claimed as he started the car. 

They drove for about an hour until Sherlock looked out his window and yelled, “JOHN! Look! Freesias! Look at how beautiful they are!”

John looked over, there was an enormous field full of multicolored flowers. He then glanced at Sherlock. There was pure awe etched onto his face. Before John could realize what he was doing, he pulled over, parking on the side of the road, and stepping out of the car. 

“John? John, where are you going? What are you doing?” Sherlock stayed seated as John walked around the front of the car to Sherlock’s door and opened it. He motioned for Sherlock to get out, offering his hand in assistance. 

“Well, love, I believe we are going to take a break and enjoy those magnificent flowers. I can tell how much you love them, why not enjoy them? Let me grab Rosie.”

The detective couldn’t help but blush at John’s sweetness. Rosie was asleep in her car-seat, which John carefully took out of the car, careful not to wake their sleeping princess. 

“Let’s go, love.”

20 minutes later, they were sitting in the field of flowers, Rosie playing with her toys on the blanket laid out for her. They were laughing and flirting, blushing and smiling, dancing and jumping like children. At one point, Sherlock had plucked a bundle of flowers, brought them to John, and said “Flowers for the most perfect man in the world. Here you go, John.” John laughed and blushed as Sherlock broke half the stem off one flower and tucked it behind his ear. “Gorgeous,” he had said. John kissed him, sweet and lingering. 

Sherlock, John, and Rosie spent the better part of their afternoon playing in the flowers, basking in the sunshine, enjoying one of those rare, precious moments life offers. When the world seems to be at peace, where there seems like not a thing could go wrong, when everything was completely, utterly perfect.


	4. Their First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rosie move back into the flat. Sherlock and John share a few firsts ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. This one starts on the first day that John and Rosie come back to live with Sherlock. I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks, loves!

Sherlock and John sat giggling on the floor as Rosie shook her little rattle, using all the strength she had in her arms. She fussed slightly as she banged her rattle against her forehead. Her bottom lip popped out, quivering, her eyes widened, and she whined. After making sure she hadn’t been injured and just slightly caught off guard, John began to chuckle, then he laughed, then he let out a hearty guffaw as Sherlock did the same. 

“Oh, John!” Sherlock inhaled and exhaled evenly, trying to force himself to stop laughing at the poor little girl sat in front of them. 

“Ah,” John tried to speak as he continued chuckling, “Oh, bloody hell!”

 

“John, I’ve been meaning to ask you. What do you want to do about the living situation?”

“What do you mean?” He glanced over at him as he waited for the detective to speak.

“Well, there’s only two bedrooms. You could put Rosie’s bed in my bedroom and you could take the room upstairs? I spend far less time sleeping than you both, so I could sleep on the sofa and you could use my bedroom.”

John sighed, “Don’t be ridiculous. That wouldn’t be very nice, to kick you out as I just popped back in to your life.”

“I’m glad you’re home, John. I couldn’t care less where I sleep. You deserve to be comfortable.” The detective looked down at the floor, careful to avoid looking into John’s captivating eyes. 

“Oh. Uh, well I suppose we could… share… a bed?” he ran a hand through his hair as he awkwardly continued. “Just for the time being, until we figure something else…?”

Sherlock died. He closed his eyes and began to think: Share a bed? With John Watson? My bed? With John Watson? At the same time? Tonight? Just for a couple weeks. That’s all. Just for a little while. We can do that. I can do that. John Watson, asleep, in my bed, only for a few weeks. Alright, yes, that’s acceptable.

“I suppose that would be quite alright, John.” He blushed as he risked a glance back at John, their eyes locking. 

“Alright, then.” John smiled softly, awkwardly, as he stood up. “Tea?”

“Love some.” He noted, picking up a different toy for Rosie, as she had grown bored of the abusive rattle. He placed it in her hands and looked up again at John, “Please,” he added. 

“Of course.”

John wondered to the kitchen, turned on the stove and grabbed two mugs as he waited for the kettle to warm. Hmm, he thought, share a bed with Sherlock Holmes. Just a platonic bed-share. Just two friends compromising. Nothing more. He sighed, “nothing more,” he whispered to himself, a tinge of sadness in his voice. He made tea for himself, then for Sherlock, and brought the two cups and a package of biscuits into the living room.

********* 

The two men said no more about tonight’s sleeping arrangements. They did their normal bedtime routine; brushed their teeth, and the likes of it were all done in an almost comfortable silence. Sherlock stood by his side of the bed, John slowly walked toward the other. They pulled back the comforter, carefully climbing in. As John laid down, he turned off the lamp next to him, and pulled the cover over himself.

“Goodnight, John.” Sherlock whispered. 

“’Night, Sherlock.”

The two had never fallen asleep quicker. 

**********

Sherlock began opening his eyes as the light from the morning sun streamed into his bedroom. He stilled as he took in his surroundings; his head was resting on John’s left bicep and his hand curled around Sherlock’s upper back. John’s right arm rested on Sherlock’s hip, his face nearly pressed against the doctor’s chest. Sherlock noticed his left arm draped into the curve of John’s side. He stayed as still as he possibly could, acting as if his life would end if John woke and noticed their entanglement. 

He slowly moved himself out of his position in John’s arms, careful not to wake him. He got up and went to the bathroom to do his regular morning routine, blushing like mad at the thought of John’s body pressed so close against his own. 

They continued to sleep in the same bed for a few weeks, occasionally they would wake up in each other’s arms and brush it off as if it were nothing. One night, they both laid awake after a particularly exciting case, in a comfortable silence until John began to speak: 

“Sherlock.”

“Hmm?”

“Is this what normal friends do? Do flatmates ever do this sort of thing?”

Sherlock chuckled, “No, probably not. But then again,” he looked over at John, “when have we ever been normal?”

 

They both broke into a fit of giggles, much like they did on their first night together.

John scooched over, closing the gap between him and Sherlock, without hesitation, without a second thought, as if it were the easiest, most normal thing in the world. It was easy. It was incredibly easy to be close to Sherlock. A certain feeling of safety and security, love and acceptance radiated off of him. It felt so natural for John to want to be wrapped up in it. After all, they were just two people. Two people that traveled long, bumpy, twist and turny roads to find one another, how could they not cherish it? How could John not move closer? How could Sherlock resist resting his forehead against the doctors? Looking into his eyes as if they held the world? How could they have waited so goddamn long for this moment?

“John?” Sherlock whispered, afraid to break the silence, terrified of causing John to move away from him. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve done this sooner. So, so much sooner.” Sherlock looked at John in confusion. Should’ve done what sooner? Oh… OH. Sherlock held in a breath as the doctor placed his hands on either side of the detectives face, and pulled him forward, not into a kiss, but close enough so that if either one moved a fraction of an inch, their lips would be touching. 

“John.” Sherlock looked into his eyes, then down to his lips. 

John felt his warm breath against his face. “Sherlock.” John licked his lips and used his hold on Sherlock’s face to bring him into a short, quick kiss. 

Sherlock fucking died. He was dead. No more Sherlock Holmes, he waisted away into nothing at the feel of John’s thin, chapped lips against his own. The world’s one and only consulting detective died and went to heaven. 

“Okay?” John asked, looking at Sherlock for confirmation and permission to continue. 

“Fucking brilliant. Come here.” Sherlock threw his arm around John’s neck, drawing him in, and kissed him. Hard. He felt the doctor laugh against his lips at his eagerness, but he couldn’t have cared less. 

Sherlock opened his mouth at the feel of John’s tongue licking his bottom lip. He let a small, desperate moan escape his mouth as the doctor’s tongue claimed his own. Sherlock wanted more. He wanted every single part of the creature that was John Watson. So, he broke the kiss, tore his shirt off as quickly as he could and brought their lips together again. He started working the buttons of John’s shirt but stopped as he felt a pair of warm hands on his own. 

John kissed him once more before rising to his knees. Sherlock, who unconsciously allowed John to decide what happened that night, followed him with his eyes, rolling onto his back, and gasped as his new… whatever John just became… ripped his shirt off, revealing gorgeous tanned skin that moved up and down every time he took a breath. He threw his shirt in the direction of the bedroom window where it landed with a soft /thump/ on the floor. The detectives lips were red and swollen and begging for more. The doctor sat above him, knees straddling Sherlock’s hips. John smiled devilishly at the man underneath him before bending down, placing his hands on either side of the bed right next to Sherlock’s face and crashing their lips together again. 

They stayed like that, tongues and lips and hands working like mad, savoring every second of this new, wonderful, intoxicating experience. John broke the kiss, to Sherlock’s obvious dismay, but quickly made up for it as he began sucking on Sherlock’s neck. 

They both stilled as they heard a loud cry come from Rosie’s baby monitor. John groaned before sitting up and mumbling, “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I better see what’s wrong with her.” He stood up and took a step, halting as he felt Sherlock’s hand wrap around his own. 

John turned to see Sherlock beginning to stand up, “Wait. I’ll come, too,” he whispered. John quickly kissed his lips and they began to make their way up to Rosie.

John picked her up and began to rock her back and forth. Sherlock walked to the other side of the room and turned on her sound machine, which must’ve turned off in the middle of the night. The sound of rain filled the room as he returned to John and watched him try to lull his daughter back to sleep. He wrapped his long, thin frame around the doctor’s back and began to rock in the same rhythm John had created. Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to John’s neck, noticing how the slight contact caused him to lean against his chest. John turned his head and gave Sherlock a quick kiss. He gently rested his head on the smaller mans shoulder, burrowing his nose into the nape of his neck. 

Once Rosie had fallen back into a deep sleep, her father laid her down in her crib, and they both quietly snuck out of her room. The distance from Rosie’s room to Sherlock’s bedroom seemed unbearably long, but they soon got there and almost immediately began to pick up where they left off. Trousers were off, lips were connecting, hands were roaming, and certain noises were being made before the door even closed. 

John kissed his way down Sherlock’s chest and torso, stopping when he got to the waistband of his pants. As if Sherlock’s incredibly noticeable erection wasn’t enough to go on, John glanced up at Sherlock as he began to ask, “Is it okay if I -”

Sherlock looked down at his pants and then back up to John. “You tell me, Dr. Watson. If you’re as smart as you say you are, you should know that that question was completely unnecessary, as my body seems to have already given you all the answer you should need.”

John laughed before rolling his eyes and saying, “You git! I was just making sure!”

“Appreciated, but as I said, unnecessary. Now, if you could please continue with what you were doing.”

“Yes, sir.” John chuckled as he removed Sherlocks pants, freeing his achingly hard cock from its contraption. “Damn,” he sighed as he looked down at /Sherlock/ and licked his lips.

“Mm. John. You seem to be wearing too many clothes. Fix that, please.”

“Please? Well if it’s important enough to be worthy of manners then I guess I have no choice but to agree.” He laughed at his own reply before removing his bright red pants and tossing them away. 

Sherlock moaned at the sight of this new John before him. His eyes were full of lust and longing, his lips were dark and swollen from their kisses. And, if we’re being honest, John’s dick is extremely impressive. 

John had moved them around so that they were in a similar position as the one they were in before they were interrupted; Sherlock on his back, John on his knees facing Sherlock, but not on top of him. John slipped two fingers into Sherlock’s mouth, “suck,” he demanded. Sherlock gladly did as he was told. John withdrew his fingers and pressed one against Sherlock’s entrance. “Alright?” he questioned, horrified at the thought of hurting him. 

“Mm. Mmhmmm, perfect.” He moaned as John began to work him open. His eyes snapped shut and his mouth hung open as the doctor’s fingers worked their magic. 

John added in a second finger, then a third, making sure to be gentle but efficient as he prepared Sherlock, who had begun moaning like mad anytime John’s fingers brushed his prostate. 

“SWEET JESUS, JOHN, IF YOU DON’T HURRY UP AND PUT THAT DAMN THING IN THERE ALREADY WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A SERIOUS PROBLEM.” He yelled as John’s fingers relentlessly stroked his prostate with every move of his fingers. 

John howled with laughter at Sherlock’s sudden outburst. He decided he was done with teasing the detective. Without a word, he took his fingers out and they both moaned as John slid inside of Sherlock. 

“Oh my fucking god. You… you feel SO fucking good, Sherlock. Oh my god.” 

Sherlock couldn’t talk. The feeling of John inside of him, actually /inside/ of him was so overwhelming yet somehow not enough. Sherlock moaned and groaned and made many other loud, extremely dirty sounds as John started to thrust. The feeling that really put him over the edge was the feeling of John’s small, calloused hand stroking his, thus far, neglected cock. The doctor timed his thrusts and his strokes, creating a perfect rhythm for the both of them. 

Sherlock came, trembling as his orgasm ripped through him. Sherlock’s orgasm triggered John’s and the both of them stayed completely still through the aftershocks of their orgasms. After a few minutes, John pulled out and joined Sherlock on the bed. He kissed his forehead, his cheek, his nose, neck, and lips agonizingly softly. 

“That was unbelievable,” John sighed before continuing, “Are you alright, love?” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been better, John.” Sherlock smiled up at him, blushing at the new name of endearment, before kissing him again. 

“I love you, Sherlock.” John whispered as he held in a breath, scared of what Sherlock might say. 

The detective inhaled and exhaled before smiling and replying, “I love you, too, John.”

They curled up around each other and whispered sweet nothings until sleep fell upon them. 

 

********** 

Sherlock woke first that next morning, feeling more refreshed than he ever had. He got out of bed and shaved, brushed his teeth, and used the loo. When he got back, he noticed that John had woken up. He looked concerned. 

“John? What’s wrong? Oof!” Sherlock exclaimed as John jumped from the bed and ran into him. He kissed him as if his life depended on it. “What’s wrong?”

John took a moment to catch his breath. “I thought – I thought you left. I thought maybe you were regretting last night.”

“John, last night was the best night of my life. I hope to have many, many, many, many, more nights just like that one. I’m sorry, I just woke up first and decided to freshen up a bit for you.” He brought John into a comforting embrace, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head. 

John pulled Sherlock back to the bed and laid down on his back, putting Sherlock on top of him. 

“I really like having you in my bed, John.” He smiled at the man below him and chuckled. 

“Well, I like being in your bed, Sherlock.” 

“Mm. I believe we should make it a permanent arrangement.”

John giggled, “I think that’s an excellent idea.”


	5. Please Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is hospitalized after a case. John has a sudden realization...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the angst!!! I was trying to hold back tears throughout this chapter but I wanted to try an alternative first kiss because I generally like reading and writing first kiss scenes. SO, being the horrible person I am, I decided to make it sad. Enjoy!

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang Bang* 

“SHERLOCK!” I heard myself scream, felt the crack in my voice. I knew the sound had been loud, but I could barely hear it, for very little could be heard over the sound of the banging in my ears. What is that incessant noise? Why is it so loud? It took me far too long to realize that the sound had been that of my own heartbeat. 

I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t move. There was blood. So much blood. Its dark crimson color covered my hands, my jumper, even my face. Where is it coming from? Where is Sherlock? Why can’t I think? Why can’t I think, breathe, feel, SEE, anything? 

“…John…” A voice. Sherlock’s voice. Open your eyes! Damn it! Get yourself together, Watson. Blood. I see blood. And… Sherlock. Sherlock’s blood. Sherlock’s blood is covering my hands. 

“Sherlock?” Here he is, he’s in my arms. He’s in my arms and he’s hurt. Oh. He’s dying. You’re a doctor, Watson! Get to it! The pieces clicked. “Sherlock! Fuck! Hold on, please. Stay with me! NO! Don’t you dare close your eyes. Sherlock! Please. Please, please, please, please, don’t leave me. Stay awake, come on, you can do it. I know you can. Come on.” I put pressure on the wound, to stop the blood, using every bit of my knowledge as an army doctor and putting it to use. He can’t die. I won’t let him die. “They’re almost here, Sherlock,” I promised as I watched a single tear roll off my cheek and splash against his forehead. “The ambulance is gonna be here in just a moment, hold on for me until then. Okay? Can you do that?”

A short nod from Sherlock confirmed that he could still hear me and was still conscious. 

“Good. Excellent. They’re gonna make you better, Sherlock, I promise. You’re going to be okay. Dear God, you have to be okay.”

 

***********

Sherlock and John had been on a case. A local coffee shop owner had been found dead in his apartment. It was a staged suicide, obvious by the fact that he had been shot in the left side of the head when he was clearly right handed. The telly was still on, there was an untouched cup of tea the victim made before his untimely death, no one would make themselves a cuppa before putting a bullet in their brains without drinking it, the balcony door was wide open, if he had killed himself, he would’ve kept it closed. It was unbearably obvious that this was indeed a murder, not a suicide, but nonetheless, the so called “officers” ruled it as such. 

Sherlock, of course, figured out who killed the man and, of course, him and John had to chase him down the streets of London. What Sherlock didn’t expect, however, was for the suspect to fire his gun at John. 

What John didn’t expect was for Sherlock to jump in front of him, getting himself shot in the chest. What the killer didn’t expect was for John to draw his gun, close his eyes, and fire a single shot, shooting him between the eyes. John watched as the detective clutched his chest and fell to the floor. For a moment he couldn’t tell what had just happened. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He was useless. 

He vaguely remembered the ride to the hospital.

*********** 

“Dr. Watson.”

“What?” He snapped before turning his head to see Mycroft standing there, umbrella in hand. “Sorry. He’s – he’s in surgery now. They don’t know… they don’t know if he’s going to make it.” John heard his voice crack as he stated those last words. His tears had only just dried, but now they were returning along with a series of heart wrenching sobs. 

“John. If I know my brother, and I believe I do quite well, he knows you’re here. He’s stronger than everyone thinks. Sherlock knows that he has to fight. He will survive this, I assure you.” The eldest Holmes brother tried his best to comfort John and to his dismay noticed that tears began to sting his eyes as well. God above, how he hoped his brother would make it. 

“John Watson?” A nurse asked, looking up from her clipboard. 

John shot out of his chair so quickly it made him dizzy. “Yes, that’s me. How is he?”

“He made it out of surgery. He has lost a very large amount of blood and suffered many major injuries, but he should fully recover.” She smiled softly, trying to reassure the man in front of her that Sherlock would be okay.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” John cried as he heard the news. 

“There is one thing I should mention, however. His heart did stop for a moment during surgery.” 

John felt his heart in his throat as he waited for her to continue. 

“We believe we fixed the problem, but there is a small chance that it could happen again within the next 24 hours.” 

John cursed under his breath. “Can we see him?”

“Yes, I will bring you to him. But, you have to be gentle. His body has been through a lot of a trauma today.” She looked at Mycroft, who was standing close to John, and nodded her head as she walked away, beckoning them both to follow. 

*********** 

John and Mycroft slowly walked into Sherlock’s room. John stopped in his tracks as he saw how pale Sherlock’s skin had gone, how weak and fragile and broken he looked.  
“Oh my god. Oh, Sherlock, what have I done? How could I have let this happen?” John whispered as he gently picked up Sherlock’s hand. Mycroft stood, a hand covering his mouth, as he stared at his younger brother with fear and sorrow in his eyes. 

John and Mycroft stayed silent for hours, neither one of them tried to speak, move, or leave the room.  
Until…

“OUT OF THE WAY!”

“HE’S CRASHING!”

John and Mycroft were grabbed and removed from the room as a team of doctors stormed in. John’s eyes were blank as he started to process what just happened. He’s crashing, he thought to himself, but that means – NO. 

John stood outside Sherlock’s room, peering in through the window, heart beating a million miles a minute as he watched the doctors begin CPR.  
**********

No. No. No. No. NO. 

“CLEAR!” 

No. Come on. Come on, Sherlock. Please come back. Please come back to me.  
“No change. Clear!” they tried again. Nothing. 

They tried again. 

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

 

Sherlock is flatlining. His heart isn’t beating. Why aren’t they doing anything. Why are they just standing there? Help him! HELP HIM! 

He’s dead. I killed him. He’s gone. I never told him. I never fucking told him. He had no idea. He had no idea how much I needed him. How much I loved him. I never told him. And now he’ll never know. I can’t believe I never told him. He makes my life worth living. He saved me. He gave me a purpose in life. He never knew how much I loved to hear him deduce, to watch him get annoyed at that one curl that always seemed to fall out of place, to listen to the beauty that came from his violin. 

 

John sobbed as he watched from the window. He felt as if his entire world was crashing down, because honestly, it was. John didn’t have a purpose, a reason, a will to live if Sherlock wasn’t by his side. He felt his throat clog, his chest beginning to tighten, his vision going dizzy. His legs gave out and he fell into the chair, begging himself to calm down. To breathe. Sherlock would want you to breathe, he told himself. Breathe, that’s it. His head dropped into his hands as he cried. 

 

 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP

“We’ve got a heartbeat!” One of the doctors cried. “Oh bloody hell! A fighter this one is!”

John gasped, whipped his head around and looked through the glass window as he saw Sherlock’s head start to move back and forth, his eyes trying their best to open. He jumped out of his chair and pushed everyone and everything out of the way as he ran to Sherlock’s side, dropping to his knees at the side of the bed and taking Sherlock’s hand into his own. 

“Come on, Sherlock. Wake up for me. Please. Come on, I’m right here. Please. I’m begging you. Open your eyes.” John groveled as he used his thumbs to stroke Sherlock’s hand. 

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and John sobbed. At some point the doctors and nurses had all left the room and Mycroft remained out in the hallway, leaving him and the detective alone. 

“Mm.” Sherlock cleared his throat before trying again, “John?” 

“Oh, Sherlock.” John stood up and gently removed his hands from Sherlock’s, placing one of them in his curly hair and the other on the railing attached to the edge of the bed. “You scared the fucking shit out of me. Never, never, never do that again.”

Sherlock managed a semi smile at John’s relieved expression. “Water?” John reached over and poured the water from the pitcher into a small cup with a straw and handed it to Sherlock, who took it greedily. John returned his hands to where they were. 

“Mm. John?” 

“Yes, Sherlock?” 

“Are you alright?” 

John laughed. “You get shot and you’re asking me if I’m alright. If anyone should be asking that question, it’s me.”

Sherlock smiled again, this time took much less effort. 

John cleared his throat. “I, um, I wanted to tell you something, actually.” Sherlock gave John a confused look, raising his eyebrow, telling him to proceed. “Well, you see, Sherlock. You died. For a moment there, you were gone. Completely. And, uh, it made – made me realize that there are a lot of things I never told you. I think now is as good of a time as any. So, uh, I’m just – I just wanted to…the thing I wanted to say was-”

“Out with it, John.” 

“I love you.”

Sherlock died again. For some reason, the heart monitor wasn’t picking up on Sherlock’s nonexistent pulse, but he was certain that he fucking died because there is no way that John, John Watson, just said those words to him. 

Sherlock took in a big breath and blew it out shakily. “You… you what?”

“I love you. I think I’ve loved you from the very beginning, I was just too… I don’t know… afraid, I suppose, to admit to myself. But I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and I understand entirely if you don’t feel the same way, but after tonight, after I thought I’d lost you again, permanently, I just knew I would never be able to live with myself if something else happened to you and I never got the chance to say that.” John exhaled and waited for Sherlock’s answer. 

After an eternity, Sherlock finally spoke. “John. You love me,” John nodded, “Right. And you’re afraid I don’t reciprocate your feelings.” John hesitated, but nodded again, “Right. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but I did just jump in front of a bullet to make sure you didn’t die.” 

“Yes.” 

“You really are a bloody idiot, aren’t you?”

“What?” 

“John, come closer.” John leaned down. “Closer.” He moved again, “Close enough for me to kiss you, please.” John stopped for a second. He took a breath, licked his lips and looked into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock used all the strength he could muster to lift his hand to John’s cheek. He ran his fingers through the doctor’s hair before pulling him down, their lips just a couple inches apart. “I love you, too, John.” 

John carefully but forcefully slammed his lips against the detectives. He felt a single tear roll down his cheek as he heard Sherlock sob into the kiss. The kiss broke as John removed his shoes and climbed into the bed. He placed both arms around Sherlock and planted feather soft kisses to Sherlock’s curls as he sighed. 

“I’m so fucking glad you’re okay, Sherlock. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if you had-”

He was silenced as Sherlock tilted his head up and kissed him again, “Shh. No more talking like that. Please. I just want to sleep. Will you stay here with me, John?”

“Yes, love. Of course, I will. There is no place else in the world I would rather be than with you.” He gave Sherlock’s nose a chaste kiss before the detective buried his face into John’s chest. 

“I love you, John.”

“I love you, too, Sherlock. Get some rest.”

With that, Sherlock closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep as John softly caressed his back. John fell asleep, too, and for the first time in a long time, they both slept through the night without a single nightmare.


	6. One of Those Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John solve a case that prevents a local pub from getting robbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. HOMOPHOBIC SLURS ARE USED IN THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE TAKE NOTE, YOU WILL BE WARNED WHEN THEY COME UP. Also, I am sorry this is a horrible chapter. I am extremely tired right now and trying my very best to keep my eyes open long enough to post this. I hope it's not too bad. I wanted to make this one longer and generally better but I'm way too tired. Anyway, enjoy!

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you! You saved me and me bar from getting a mighty fine beatin’ I know I couldn’t pay for.” The bar owner smiled brightly at Sherlock, “Mr. ‘Olmes, you and your fella here,” he turned to John and winked, “can have tonight on the house!”

“That is very generous of you, Mr. Bailer. What do you say, John? We haven’t had a ‘night out on the town’ in a while, as you so foolishly stated it.”

John rolled his eyes but chuckled anyway, “Sound’s great, Sherlock,” He looked at the other man, “We’ll take you up on that offer, thank you. We will see you tonight. Ta!”

The men shook Mr. Bailer’s hand before exiting the bar. There had been a string of pub robberies and Sherlock deduced that friendly ol’ Todd Bailer was going to be the next victim. The found the robber and prevented the attack on the owner’s “pride and joy,” as he called it, hence the reward. 

Sherlock easily hails a cab and gives the cabbie their address. Neither said a word as they sat in a comfortable silence. Sherlock watched through his window as the city flew past them. John placed his hand in Sherlock’s, intertwining their fingers. The doctor brought their hands up, softly kissing the skin on the back of Sherlock’s hand before he gently laid his head on the detective’s shoulder and dozed off. They stayed in this position until they arrived at Baker Street. 

Sherlock gave John’s forehead a soft kiss. “Wake up, John. We’re home,” he whispered, the hand that wasn’t holding John’s began to push the silver hair falling over the doctor’s eyes back to its place.

“Mm. Oh. Right. Must’ve dozed off a bit. Sorry ‘bout that, love.” He mumbled sleepily as he lifted his head and followed Sherlock out of the cab.

Sherlock chuckled and paid the cabbie before taking the shorter mans hand in his own again. He opened the door and they walked up the stairs to their flat. 

“You should get some rest, John. It’s been a couple days since you’ve had any decent sleep. Go lay down in bed, I’ll make you some tea and come join you in a minute, yes?” 

John nodded, leaned up and brought his lips to the detectives for a quick kiss. “Yes. Alright, love. Thank you.” He smiled before turning and drudging along to Sherlock’s bedroom. He plopped onto the bed and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Sherlock rushing about the kitchen. 

Sherlock brought the fixed tea into his bedroom and watched as the doctor hoisted himself into a sitting position, then handed it to John. “Ta.” He moaned as the hot liquid ran down his throat and took another sip. They stayed quiet, sipping their tea until it was gone. John laid down again and felt a pair of thin arms wrap around his frame, a whisper of a kiss on his neck, and the detective’s legs tangling his own. They both fell fast to sleep. 

 

John woke up to Sherlock’s soothing voice in his ear, “You’ve got to get up now, John.” He chuckled as the doctor groaned and brought the blanket up to his nose. “If you want to go out to that bar tonight, you’re going to have to get ready now. It’s almost 7 o’clock. Sorry to wake you, John.” He laughed again at John’s annoyed behavior. 

“Fine, fine, I’m up.” He grunted as he detangled himself from Sherlock and sat up. Sherlock changed his sleep wrinkled suit for a different one, replacing his white shirt with the purple one he knew John loved. After 30 minutes, the two were ready to leave the flat.

Arriving at their destination, they got out of the cab and entered the building. It was a nice place, crowded, slightly loud, but not overwhelming. There was an impressive bar with an uncountable number of various alcohol bottles, many waiters and waitresses walking around, drinks in hand, giving them to the poor saps that had already drunk too much. Sherlock began deducing the crowd rather quickly. He was snapped out of it by a tug on his sleeve. 

“What do you want to drink, love?” John asked, eyes fixed on the wall of liquor.

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Surprise me,” he finally said. 

John nodded and went off to the bar. 

 

15 minutes later found John and Sherlock sitting at a table, eating chips and drinking beer. 

25 minutes later found John and Sherlock drunk and laughing their arses off at the deductions Sherlock slurred out. 

38 minutes later found John in the loo and Sherlock out by the bar, where are a man came up to him and started chatting. 

“Hey, mate. How’s it going?” The man asked as he waited for his ordered cocktail from the bartender 

“Fine, thanks.” Sherlock responded, not having much interest in the man next to him. 

The man, Gerald, continued to chat up Sherlock, “I see you’ve got a ring on your finger. Where’s the wife?” He nodded to Sherlock’s left hand.

“Oh, no. No, my husband, John, he went to the loo shortly before you came over.” Sherlock glanced at the door, watching as John came out of it, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. “There he is now. Ah, he’s coming over.” John stopped at Sherlock’s side, “Hello, John. This is Gerald.”

“Hey, love.” He looked at Gerald, who had a rather nasty face on, “Hello, name’s John.” He extended his hand for the man to shake, but withdrew when the man didn’t take his hand. 

Gerald scoffed. “So, you’re telling me that you’re married… to him?” He shot John a disgusted look. 

Sherlock stepped back a bit, his walls clearly coming up, “Yes. Have been for 5 years, 7 months, and 15 days. Is there a problem?” John could see how agitated Sherlock had become. He was always ready to defend their marriage. If someone batted an eye at the them, Sherlock immediately became on edge. He’d learned a long time ago not to care about what people think of him, but he loathed the idea of people judging John for being with him. Most of the time, John could sense the tension vibrating off of him and see the fear in his eyes which caused him to pull him into a kiss right on the spot; if not to calm Sherlock down, which it always did, it was to ward off any peoples judgmental eyes. The detective had gotten into a few fights, John as well, but luckily, neither ever got seriously injured. A couple times Sherlock left with a few bruises, a black eye and a split lip, a few cuts maybe, but John had always made sure to tend to his wounds, ice his knuckles, make sure he was physically and mentally okay. 

Gerald looked disgusted. “So, you’re one of them?”

 

(WARNING-)***** 

 

“One of what, exactly?” Sherlock knew what he was going to say, but hoped against all odds that tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights. 

“You’re one of them fucking faggots. One of them little queers. The both of you.” He laughed, as if this moment was somehow, unfathomably comical. 

“Excuse me?” Sherlock stepped forward, subconsciously putting himself in front of John. “Are you sure you want to go there?” Sherlock questioned him, his eyes practically saying ‘I dare you. Say something about John and you’ll never see the light of day. Find out just how serious I am.’

For a moment, it almost seemed like this newfound arsehole was going to back off. Almost. “It’s hideous!” Gerald yelled, “Both of you are arrogant, disgusting, pedophilic fools! You should be ashamed! You worthless, dirty, fucking homos. You repel me.”

Sherlock felt his blood boil, felt steam shooting out of his ears. Who did this guy think he was? Did he honestly think he could say that to John and I’d just let him? Sherlock’s face had gone red and his hands were clenched into fists as he tried to calm down. He felt John’s hand on his arm.

“Sherlock, love, let’s just go.” John attempted to get Sherlock to calm down. “Come on.” He said. Sherlock looked at John and nodded. He turned around and made to leave. 

He felt a hand tug at his wrist as he heard, “Oh no you don’t.” Sherlock was pulled back around as his face met with the drunk mans fist. Sherlock fell to the ground at the sudden impact. He heard John yell his name. He heard the noise of the crowd that had suddenly accumulated. He heard John grunt. And then? Then he heard the sound of an extremely strong right hand break the nose of the homophobic drunk man that had caused the whole scene. He made to get up but felt a kick to his stomach, no doubt caused by Gerald. Sherlock opened his eyes as he tried again to stand and found Gerald being tackled to the ground by an insanely furious John Watson Holmes. 

John’s knuckles were bloody but there didn’t seem to be any other injuries on his end. Gerald on the other hand. Well, that arsehole had a very bloody face and a broken nose, an unconfirmed broken hand from his shot at Sherlock, and a possible abdominal injury. He laid writhing in pain on the filthy bar floor. Sherlock had somehow found himself wrapped around John’s shaking body as he pulled him away from Gerald. 

“John. John. I’m alright. He’s not worth it anymore. Please, let’s go.” Sherlock pleaded as he worked to calm the enraged man before him. 

John gave Sherlock a tight nod before stepping away from the man on the floor and stomping towards the door. 

“John. Please look at me,” he begged. John turned his gaze to Sherlock, calming down a bit more almost instantly as their eyes locked. “I am so, so sorry, John. I had no idea – I didn’t know he was going to… I’m sorry.” Sherlock placed his hands on either side of John’s head as he let his head fall, ashamed. 

“Sherlock. I’m so angry. I’m so fucking angry.” John closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe deep, even breaths before trying again. “I’m not angry at you. I’m just – I don’t understand how people can be like that.” He opened his eyes and brought his hand to Sherlock’s face, wiping away a single fallen tear with his thumb. “Love, look at me.” Sherlock hesitated for a moment, but lifted his head, “I’m so sorry you got hurt, love.” He gently brushed Sherlock’s cheekbone, which was bloody and bruising, with his thumb. 

“John-” He tried. 

“No. No just let me say this, please. I’m not angry at you. I’m not upset with you, but I need to say this. Please. Please. I am begging you. Please don’t fight anymore. I don’t care what people say about me or about our relationship because they don’t know what and who we are, but I do care about the things that happen to you. I can’t see you get hurt anymore. I understand why you fight, I understand why it’s so important to you to make sure people don’t judge us for being together. I get it, I really do. But can you promise me that you won’t fight anymore? Please? Can you promise me that?” John looked into Sherlock’s eyes, tears stinging his own. He held his breath as Sherlock thought for a moment. 

“No. I can’t promise you that, John. I can’t promise that I won’t do every single thing I can to defend our marriage. You are the most important thing to me. My reason for living. I love you so much, but I can’t say that because it would just be a lie. I will do everything in my power to make sure no one thinks that you and I are doing anything wrong. I am yours and you are mine and we are together. I don’t want to fight anymore, but if I have to defend your honour, I’m damn well going to. I’m not going to let people attack the only thing that matters to me. I suppose I can promise you that I won’t initiate the fights, but I’ll always make sure it’s known that our relationship is everything but wrong.”

John inhaled slowly, “I love you, Sherlock. Its just hard for me knowing that people can do the things they just did to you for no other reason than the fact that you’re with me. I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

“John, none of this is your fault. I need you to know that.” John nodded once. “Good.” He bent down and kissed John. “Can we please go home, now?” He asked. 

“God, yes.” John sighed and kissed Sherlock again before he hailed a cab. 

********* 

John and Sherlock arrived home and John cleaned up the cut on Sherlock’s cheek. 

“John, I’m really sorry about tonight.” Sherlock whispered.

“Hush. No more apologies, love.” John scooted closer and rested a hand on Sherlock’s knee before leaning in and kissing him with everything he had. They decided that it had been a long day and it was time to go to sleep. 

They did their usual bedtime routines, climbed onto the mattress and fell asleep in each other’s arms.


	7. Honestly, I'm Exhausted and Can't Think of a Title.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have sex. That's literally all it is. I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is absolutely horrible and has basically no point but I wanted to get something posted today, so here it is. I usually would've made this longer and more descriptive and actually (semi) good but I've spent the last 3 days on about 9 hours of sleep and I am not used to that. Enough excuses. I'm sorry for anyone that reads this monstrosity. Apologies, loves. But hey, smut is better than nothing, right? I'm hoping?

“Sherlock.” John walked into the kitchen where Sherlock sat, staring at his microscope.

“Busy.” He said, not looking up. 

“I’m naked, Sherlock.” John carefully tip toed to Sherlock’s side and sat on the table. 

Sherlock groaned but continued to look at his microscope, certainly not focusing on whatever was on the slide. 

“John. I can’t look up from this microscope because if I do, all of the blood in my body will certainly flow directly to my penis and I will pass out.”

John chuckled. He grabbed Sherlock’s face with both hands and pulled him into a kiss, swallowing the surprised gasp that came from the detective. Without breaking the kiss, Sherlock pushed back his chair and stood up, leaning into John’s space. John wrapped his legs around the taller mans waist as he pulled him closer. 

John broke the kiss, both of them panting, and cursed as he felt a hand wrap around his dick, “Fuck,” he whispered as Sherlock’s hand began teasingly stroking. 

“Bedroom. Now.” Sherlock removed his hand and detached himself from John before stepping away and heading towards their bedroom. “Coming?” he asked from the doorway.

“Oh. God, yes.” He slid off the table and waddled over. 

Sherlock grabbed John and connected their lips. John’s hands immediately started working the buttons of the detectives shirt as Sherlock tried to take off his own pants. Once they were both completely naked, he pushed the smaller man onto the bed and loomed over him. Sherlock grabbed the lube bottle off the nightstand and squirted a generous amount onto his fingers. John watched as Sherlock reached a hand between his legs, moaning as he worked himself open. He drank up the sight of the other man. He watched as a bead of liquid pooled at the top of the detectives dick. With John on his back, Sherlock removed his fingers and set himself over the doctor. He lined up his entrance and cried out as he lowered himself onto John’s cock. He closed his eyes and stilled for a moment, giving them both time to adjust, before slowly rocking his hips. John’s hands flew to the other man’s hips as lifted himself up and infuriatingly slowly pushed himself back down. They quickly got into a rhythm that was perfect for both of them; John would bring his hips up and thrust into Sherlock as he lowered himself down, aiming for Sherlock’s prostate every time. A mere constant stream of moans and groans filled the room as both men got closer and closer to release. John could tell Sherlock was extremely close, so he wrapped a hand around Sherlock’s neglected cock. 

One tug was all it took before Sherlock spilled into John’s hand and chest. John thrust inside twice more before crying out and filling Sherlock, screaming his name. 

They waited for a few minutes, catching their breath, giving each other feather-soft kisses, before Sherlock pulled off of John with a quiet pop. “I’m leaking,” he giggled, flopping onto the bed beside his husband. He settled onto his side and tossed one arm over the other man’s chest. He reached up to press a kiss to John’s lips and then buried his nose in the crook of his neck. 

“I love you, Sherlock. So, so much.” He mumbled sleepily, a faint smile on his face. 

“I love you, too, John.” He kissed the man again before curling up against him. “Goodnight,” he whispered. 

“Goodnight, love.”


	8. The Tailor and His Client Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is a tailor. Sherlock is a client. Love at first fit I suppose. Part 1 of (possibly, still undetermined) 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was requested by supernaturaltakeoverfics. I hope this is alright, love. If this isn't the way you wanted it then please tell me and I'll make the next chapter to your liking. Enjoy!!!!

“What can I do for you today?” The woman behind the counter gave Sherlock a polite smile.

 

“Hello, I need my suit fitted. Can anyone here do that?”

 

“Oh, yes! Yes, follow me, please.” The woman started heading to the back of the store and Sherlock followed. “Our tailor, John, he is one of the best. He has incredible taste. You’ll love him.”

 

 

_Oh, how right she was._

 

 

The woman, Stephanie was her name, lead Sherlock through the boutique and into a room where a short man with sandy blonde hair stood.

 

“Hey, Steph.” The tailor smiled at Stephanie as she nodded and exited the room. He turned his attention to Sherlock, “Hi. How can I help ya?”

 

Sherlock gave the man a quick once-over, deducing that he used to be in the military, had an alcoholic and abusive father, a brother with a drinking problem, and that he was bisexual. Obvious past relationships with mostly women, but with a few men, too. Hmm, he thought, interesting. Sherlock looked him up and down again, this time, though, he didn’t observe. He just saw. He saw that there was an extremely attractive, insecure, and somehow confident man that was damn good at his job. Here came trouble.

 

“Hi,” He cleared his throat, “I need to get this suit-” Sherlock held up the see-through garment bag that covered a beautiful burgundy suit, “tailored for a case.”

 

The man looked at the suit, then at Sherlock. John’s eyes scanned over the lanky man in front of him; he’s bloody gorgeous, he thought. Look at those curls, those eyes, they look like the ocean after a storm, John’s eyes moved down to Sherlock’s torso; beautiful, thin and tall, smooth frame, long legs, Jesus Christ, what a beauty. “Absolutely. Just hop up on this stand here and I’ll take your measurements first.” He nodded to the stand before turning around to grab his pins, clips, and sewing measuring tape.

 

Sherlock stepped onto the stand and watched as John made his way over to him. "So," the tailor said around the clip he held in his mouth, "you said this was for a 'case,' right?" Sherlock nodded, "Mm. So, what do you do? Are you an officer or a PI or something?"

 

"Consulting detective, actually. The only one in the world. I invented the job." Noticing the man's confused look, he continued, "When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

 

A hum of understanding came from the tailor as he took the measurements of his clients waist. "But, the police don't consult amateurs?"

 

John wrote down the measurements and looked up at Sherlock, whose eyes were nearly burning a hole into his skull. Sherlock hopped down off the stand and stepped next to John. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked, staring into John's eyes as he awaited the answer. 

 

"Hmm. Afghanistan. How did you-"

 

Sherlock cut him off with a roll of his eyes, "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists - you've been abroad but not sunbathing.  The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't use a chair when you work, there's not even one in this room besides the one that's obviously only used for clients, quite like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That suggests the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic - wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq." The detective spit his deductions so fast that John had a hard time following him. 

 

After a moments pause, the tailor sighed, "Brilliant. Absolutely, positively brilliant."

 

Sherlock blushed and locked eyes with the shorter man again, "That's not what people normally say."

 

"What do people normally say?"

 

"Piss off!" He smiled as John chuckled.

 

"I can't see why anyone would say that. That was extraordinary, Mr. Holmes." He tore his eyes from Sherlock's, " _You're_ extraordinary," he muttered. 

 

"You really think so?" He lifted his hand to John's chin, forcing him to look at him again. 

 

His skin caught fire at Sherlock's touch and he gazed into the taller man's eyes. "I really think so," he breathed. 

 

"Call me Sherlock. None of this 'Mr. Holmes' business." Sherlock's hand was still on John's chin, even though it was unnecessary; John couldn't look away even if he wanted to. 

 

"I'd rather call you tonight." Sherlock closed his eyes as that extremely corny pick-up line registered and snorted. 

 

"That was bloody awful, John." 

 

"Well, it made you laugh, didn't it?" He chuckled.

 

"That it did."

 

John cleared his throat before proceeding to say, "I know it's a bit early, we've only just met and all, but would you mind terribly if I kissed you?"

 

"Mind? No, John, I would prefer it."

 

John giggled before standing on his tip toes and slowly pressing his lips against Sherlock's. He kept his mouth closed, trying his best to keep control of himself and not startle the man. That didn't last for one fucking minute. Sherlock groaned and kissed John harder. He let one hand wrap around the smaller man's neck and the other snaked around his waist, pulling him in closer. The tailor got the hint and, with a laugh, licked Sherlock's bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. With a needy moan, Sherlock opened his mouth and the kiss deepened. The detective felt his knees go weak and almost lost his balance. John pulled back, thinking he had done something incorrectly or crossed a line, but Sherlock immediately pulled him back and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. They kissed until their lips were red and swollen. John reluctantly pulled back and guffawed as Sherlock tried in vain to bring their lips together again. 

 

"Will you go on a date with me tonight, Sherlock?" He inquired.

 

"I'd love to, John," he mumbled cheerfully, a broad smile on his face. He brought John's head up and kissed him again. 

 

The tailor broke the kiss again, "Mm. As much as I love this, and I really do, I believe you have a suit that needs tailoring. May I?" John gave him another quick kiss when the man groaned before leading him to the stand. 

 

 

 


	9. An Alternative Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guessed it. Sherlock and John have a date night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not posting yesterday. It was my birthday and I had plans to see my brother and never got the chance to write. This one is pretty short and I'm sorry about that but I hope it's better than nothing. Enjoy!!!!

 

_"Sherlock. Please. Please, don't leave me. Please. NO! Sherlock, please. We can fix this. I'll try harder. Please, don't walk out now. I need you. Sherlock!" Tears stained his face and burned his eyes as John kept screaming his name, begging, and pleading the angry man in front of him Sherlock walked through the door of the flat, not a single word spoken. John heard the door slam, then the car door closing with a large amount of force. Then. Then, he heard the sound of screeching tires and an ear-splitting crash. He knew. He knew that the love of his life was dead. Gone. Forever._

 

 

_He woke with a scream._

 

 

 

"John? John, John, baby, look. I'm right here. See?" Sherlock picked up John's shaking hands and brought them to his bare chest, allowing John to feel the heat of his skin and the pounding of his heartbeat. "It was just a nightmare. I'm here. Okay? Are you okay?" Concern and fear washed over Sherlock's features as the doctor came out of his nightmare induced trance. 

 

"Sherlock..." John hadn't realized he was crying until Sherlock let go of one of his hands and wiped away a couple of tears from the older mans cheek. "Oh god, Sherlock."

 

The detective pulled the smaller man into his arms, one hand drawing small, delicate patterns on his back, the other resting gently on his neck. "What happened, John?"

 

John didn't answer for a moment. He closed his eyes as another tear fell and tried to even out his breathing. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. He repeated this several times, until he was confident enough that he could speak without breaking into a sobbing fit again. "You... you left me. We got into a fight - I don't remember what about - but you were furious. I tried apologizing and I begged you not to leave but you did. You walked out. And...there was a crash outside. I didn't even have to look, Sherlock. You were gone. Oh god, you were gone." 

 

"Oh, John. It's alright. I would never leave you. Ever." John grunted as if he didn't believe him. How could he not believe him? "John, look at me," Sherlock demanded, using the hand wrapped around John's neck to lift his face. "I will never,  _never_ , leave you. You are the only thing in my life that matters. You. If I left you, I'd be leaving my reason for living. I love you, John and I doubt that there is much of anything you could do that would warrant my leaving. Do you understand?"

 

John nodded and whispered a soft "I love you, too" into Sherlock's neck as he hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry for waking you."

 

"Don't apologize for that ever again, love. I know. It's fine. It's all fine." Sherlock smiled at his accidental use of that familiar phrase. 

 

After a few minutes they laid back down and fell asleep again, embracing each other.

 

 

********************************

 

"Sherlock?"

 

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, not bothering to stop looking at whatever was so interesting on the stage of his microscope. 

 

"I was thinking. We haven't gone out for a date in a while."

 

"Correct."

 

"Well. I was thinking that maybe we should go on one this afternoon. Would you like to?" 

 

Sherlock looked up, "John. Are you...blushing...?" He asked, hinting at the rosiness of the doctor's cheeks.

 

"Oh, shut it, you big git." John averted his eyes to the floor, blushing even harder at being caught. "Do you want to go out or not, Sherlock?"

 

The detective chuckled at the embarrassed, goofy state of his boyfriend, "I'd absolutely love to, John."

 

"Fine then."

 

"Where are we going?"

 

"That, my love, is for me to know and you to deduce."

 

*******************

 

"Ice skating. You. Want. Me. To.  _Ice skate_?"

 

"Yes, Sherlock. That is exactly what I want you to do. Bit not good?" John asked, now more than a little concerned about whether or not Sherlock was actually upset about this. 

 

"John. I am a tall man."

 

He huffed. "Yes."

 

"I am, quite honestly, a bit lanky."

 

John gave Sherlock a questioning face, "Sherlock?"

 

"Tall, lanky, uncoordinated men aren't the most graceful of ice skaters, John." He stated, eyes darting to the giant oval shaped rink and then back at John. 

 

 "Oh. Do you not know how to skate, love?"

 

Sherlock sighed, more than slightly embarrassed, "I haven't the faintest idea."

 

John let out a stifled giggle before clearing his throat and saying, "Why don't we just get our skates and I'll show you how? I don't mean to brag but I used to be pretty good back in my day. You can hold on to me the whole time if you want."

 

"I always want, John. Anyway, yes, let's go get those skates." John laughed at Sherlock's excitement and followed him to the counter.

 

They stepped onto the ice. "Alright. So, hold onto me right here," Sherlock grabbed John's shoulder, as directed, "Good. And you want to put your left foot in front like this," John showed him the movement, the genius following. "And then you just move your legs back and forth like that." 

 

Sherlock tried to take a step but immediately slipped. Luckily for him, John was a very strong man. John caught Sherlock before they both ended up on the frozen floor. Laughing, he asked, "You alright, love?" 

 

"Mm. I am fine." He stated, trying desperately to not let his humiliation show. 

 

Sherlock tripped here and there but soon got the hang of it. He was definitely no professional. In fact, he was the epitome of a graceless, inept snail. 

 

"OH FUCK! OW!" 

 

"SHIT!"

 

"JOHN!"

 

Sherlock was now laying back-flat on the chilly floor with a confused John Watson on top of him. They quickly inspected each other for injuries and, finding none, immediately broke into a fit of giggles. They were laughing so hard that John's eyes began to water and Sherlock's sides ached. It was so rare for life to offer these types of moments; where the world seems immune to anything remotely bad or evil, where there is so much joy that it feels impossible to ever be anything besides happy, where two people just let go of everything but each other, finding complete bliss and pure satisfaction in a nonsexual, but unbelievably intimate way. The rink was empty, the only thing that could be heard were the heavy breaths of the men that were trying to collect themselves enough to use words without laughing hysterically. 

 

"Oh hell," John sighed as he sat up, knees on either side of Sherlock's hips. 

 

"Apologies, John. I didn't intend to bring you down with me."

 

John just giggled again as he stood up, offering his hand for Sherlock, who gladly took it, most likely knowing that he would end up on his face with a broken bone or twelve if he attempted to get up himself.  

 

Sherlock lost balance, again, when he stood up and accidentally crashed into John, not hard enough to make them fall, but hard enough for the doctor to find it comical.  

 

"You could stop laughing at me now, John."

 

"I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. Then laughed again. 

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned down, drawing John into an almost bruising kiss. "John, I do believe that if you take me home right now... well. I don't think you'll regret it." The taller man nibbled on John's left ear as he whispered, a moan making its way from the doctor's mouth. 

 

"I don't think I will regret it either. Neither will you. Let's go, sweetheart."

 

John, nor Sherlock regretted that night. They non-regretted that night 4 times before their bodies were so exhausted, and slightly bruised from their earlier fall, that they fell asleep. 


	10. SALLY ACCIDENTALLY DOES SOMETHING ACTUALLY HELPFUL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, once again, brilliantly solves a murder. Sally Donovan is just a big jealous bigot that doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut. I honestly don't know what direction I wanted this to go in but I hope everyone likes the ending ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HATE SALLY DONOVAN SO MUCH IT ALMOST PAINS ME. 
> 
> I got another kudos and it made me so happy that I screamed. So, if you like this please leave kudos and comments, I basically live for them and you have no idea how much they motivate me to be as good as I can be!!! I hope you enjoy this kind of strange chapter, loves!

Sherlock and John had just finished solving a triple homicide. The murderer was a mother of 4 and was employed as a grade school principle who had killed three people for no reason other than she wanted to. Public school will do that, I suppose. Sally Donovan had unsurprisingly confronted Sherlock in the lobby of the police station, no doubt intending to tell Sherlock that he was a freak or an outcast or some other hateful term. The consulting detective had learned not to let people affect him anymore, but sometimes it was challenging to not let them into his unruly head.

John had come back with two cups of rather shitty coffee and found Sherlock in the middle of a conversation with Sergeant Donovan.

"...nobody loves you, freak. Nobody could ever love you. No one could ever love a psychopath like you. Especially not him." Sally spit her words like fire, knowing full-well that the man in front of her was taking every word she said to the heart. Sherlock was blankly staring at his feet, listening to the venomous woman insult him. John was unsure of who exactly Sally was referring to, but he didn't really care about that. He wouldn't have been surprised if someone told him that steam was shooting from his ears and nose, his face almost blood red, his absolute fury obvious to anyone who dared look at him.

Sherlock hadn't said a word as Donovan kept ripping him apart, layer by layer. The disgusting woman had a smug look on her face, and a faint smile, as she saw the damage she had just done to Sherlock.

 

 

"I could." John's voice broke the silence. "I could... I do. I love him." Sherlock's head shot up and his posture straightened at John's words. "And Sally, you are awful. You disgust me. I can't even fathom why you hate Sherlock so much. He is absolutely brilliant." John risked a quick glance at Sherlock, then averted his furious gaze to Sally, "I believe," he had an almost murderous smile on his face, "I believe that if there is anyone here that doesn't deserve love, have love, or is capable of love, it's you."

 

Donovan went slack jawed at John's words, but, unfortunately, the shock was short lived as she gave the doctor a vicious smile. "Ah... I get it," she hissed, "You've turned gay now, have ya? Should've seen that comin'." She turned back to Sherlock. "Well. If being a freakish psycho wasn't enough to make almost everyone," her eyes darted to John, then back to the man in front of her, "hate you then being a little fag sure will, won't it?"

 

"What is your fucking problem?" Everything about John's body language screamed 'military doctor that could break every bone in your body while naming them,' and it was clear that he was not taking too kindly to the verbal abuse Sherlock was being submitted to.

 

"I don't have a problem. You two are the ones with the real problem." She was practically spitting now.

 

Sherlock still hadn't said a word. John felt pain in his chest as he realized that the detective really did believe everything Sally had said to him. He really thought he was undeserving of love, that he was a worthless, uncaring psychopath that didn't deserve respect or honour or care. 'Oh Sherlock,' John thought, 'You have no idea how wrong you both are. If anyone deserves love, it's you. I love you.' The doctor's eyes snapped open, unaware that they had been closed in the first place. He whispered to himself, "I love you." A bit louder now, "I love you." He looked up at Sherlock, "I love you." He watched as Sherlock's entire body changed. His arms tensed, his eyes widened, his back straightened, his head whipped up as John said it again, smiling, "I love you." Before the military man knew what he was doing, he had already crowded into Sherlock's personal space, his fists clenching and unclenching anxiously as he repeated himself, whispering it to the taller man, eyes burning holes into his brain. "I love you, Sherlock."

 

"...What?"

 

"I love you."

 

"You do?" Pure shock plastered its way onto Sherlock's features.

 

"I do. I love you. And my god, I am so, so, unbelievably sorry that it took me so long to realize that."

 

For some reason, maybe it was the look in John's eyes, or maybe the single tear that had rolled down his cheek, but it had convinced Sherlock that the smaller man meant what he said.

 

It took the detective a moment too long to realize that he, too, was crying and that the reason John's thumb gently stroked the younger man's cheek and under eye was because there were multiple tears laid upon them.

 

"I love you, Sherlock. I haven't loved anyone as much as I love you. I must be a bloody idiot to not have seen it sooner." John chuckled as he voiced his next thought, "I guess most platonic friendships don't include one of them to never stop thinking of the other. I think I've always known that I had these feelings for you but I never really knew how to define them so I tried ignoring it. But, Sherlock, now, I can't believe how much I love you." He took a panicked breath before hurrying out his next line, "And I completely understand if you don't reciprocate those feelings. I just thought you should know.

 

Sherlock almost laughed, "John, sometimes your idiocy frightens me. Why would I have winked at our first meeting if I hadn't wanted to express...something... interest, I suppose? Why would I stare at you every fucking second of the day? Why do you think I never correct anyone when they assume our advanced relationship status? Here's a hint for you, John - it's because I wished it was true! Why do you think I've broken myself again and again to make sure your happiness and safety wasn't at stake? Why do you think I basically head dove into a bonfire to save you? 'Girlfriends aren't really my area.' Does that ring a bell? Does that ring a fucking bell, John? Girlfriends aren't my area, John, because it's you. You are my only area. You cock! You!" They both chuckled at the memory, before Sherlock continued. "Why do you think I speak to you all the time, even when you're not here? Because I wish you were here. Why do you think I crashed your date with Sarah? Because I knew that was the closest I would ever get to going on a date with you. And honestly, I have been jealous of every girlfriend you've ever had because it's never been me. 'It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right.' I didn't say that in my best man speech to burst your ego, John. I said it because I couldn't handle not saying it for a moment longer. Why do you think I said I was married to my work, then IMMEDIATELY referred to you as my colleague? Why do you think I literally restarted my heart because you were in danger? I wouldn't just die for you, John. I would live for you. I would live a life that consisted of seeing you in love with someone else if it meant you would be happy. I have been alone for so long, so many times, making sure you were safe and satisfied and I would do it again without a moments hesitation because I love you, John Watson. I have since the very moment I meant you. And I firmly believe that if you don't get your arse over here and kiss me I will explode."

 

John had tears in his eyes, whether from laughing at Sherlock's outbursts and his obvious concern for his intelligence or from hearing that the detective shared the same feelings he did, he was unsure. But, damn it, he wasn't going to waste one more bloody second. He got on his tip toes, leaned his neck up and simultaneously pulled Sherlock's neck down, connecting their lips. John smiled so wide that he was afraid his lips were going to split. He smiled even hardly as he heard, or rather felt, Sherlock happy sob into their kiss. John grabbed that beautiful man and kissed the absolute shit out of him because he finally could. Sherlock wanted him to. And dear god, how long he had been wishing to feel those perfect lips against his own.

 

They were so caught up in their own moment that they almost didn't hear Sally's noises of disgust. Almost.

 

Sherlock broke the kiss, sighed, then covered John's ears with his hands. "SALLY DONOVAN, IF YOU DON'T GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM US RIGHT NOW, THEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR MISERABLE LIFE YOU'LL BE RIGHT ABOUT SOMETHING. EVERYONE WILL BE STANDING AROUND A BODY AND SHERLOCK HOLMES WILL BE THE ONE TO HAVE PUT IT THERE. NOT JUST ANY BODY, THOUGH. _YOURS._ FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY, GO BLOW ANDERSON WITH THAT DISGUSTING MOUTH OF YOURS BEFORE I KILL YOU."

 

Sally's eyes just about popped out of her skull but Sherlock's message was apparently heard loud and clear. Sally huffed and made her way down the corridor, her heels clacking obnoxiously on the tile floor.

 

Sherlock's hands left their position over John's ears and one found it's way to the back of his neck, the other softly stroking John's smiling cheek. "Sherlock, that was bloody gorgeous. I have been waiting for that to happen since the moment I met her and she told me to stay away from you."

 

"Mm. Enough about her." The taller man giggled before raising an eyebrow and asking, "Where were we?"

 

"Hmm," John pretended to ponder the question. "Well, I do believe we were right here..." John crashed his lips against Sherlock's in a passionate kiss.

 

 

  
They eventually left the station and went home, made some tea, and for the first time, fell asleep...

  
.. _.together._


	11. Art Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is failing his college art class and John offers to tutor him. Dooooooeeeeesssss a romance brew? Yes. Brew like coffee, romance; do your thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like it to be known that this is set in college, not high school, and the men are of age. I think Sherlock is probably 20ish in this one. Didn't want anyone to think the boys were too young :) Enjoy, my loves! Leave a comment or kudos if you like it! Thank you for reading!

 

 

Sherlock sighed as he read the red markings on his recently submitted paper. 'See me after class,' was written along the top of his paper in bold letters. The class had been instructed to choose any piece of art work and write an excruciatingly long essay on the artist's technique, their intentions for the piece, and what the student believed to be the meaning. The young student was unsure of exactly what was causing him to struggle with the assessment, but apparently, his teacher, Mrs. Thomas, took notice and wanted him to fix it. The bell rang, and Sherlock lazily started packing his things before running a hand through his hair and scurrying to the desk in the front of the classroom. 

 

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. I don't believe you're completely grasping the concept of the piece you've chosen to write your essay on. Is there something going on? You usually excel in this class and, quite honestly, I'm more than slightly disappointed in your efforts on this assignment."

 

He took a deep breath, "I know, Mrs. Thomas. Nothing's going on, I'm uncertain of what exactly is occurring with me lately, but I would be grateful for the opportunity to redo this assignment and I can assure you I will do better."

 

The woman thought it over for a moment. "Yes, I suppose that would be quite alright." Sherlock took in a breath of relief as she gave the woman a thankful smile. 

 

"Thank you, Mrs. Thomas. You will not be disappointed again." She nodded and dismissed him. He navigated his way through the halls, coming to a complete halt as a warm hand wrapped around his wrist. He turned and was greeted by the friendly face of his fellow (and favorite) classmate, John Watson. John was the captain of the school's rugby team, of course, making him one of the most popular and most liked kids in school.

 

"Hey, it's Sherlock, right?" The boy gave Sherlock a questioning, but polite smile. 

 

He nodded his head, "Yes, it's Sherlock."

 

"Right. So, I heard what Mrs. Thomas said," Sherlock felt his cheeks warm at the realization that John knew his current, failing status in their shared art class, "and I was just thinking that I did really well on that one, so I wondered if maybe you might be interested in allowing me to...tutor...you? You, of course, don't have to, it's just I, uh, I thought I would offer." He continued his rambling as Sherlock considered his offer. He really could use the help, and John seemed to be a really nice guy. Plus, Sherlock thought, he definitely is extremely attractive. With his...face and his body and his... 

 

Sherlock watched as John's hands tapped anxiously on the side of his pant leg, awaiting the taller boy's answer. "Actually, John, that would be wonderful. Thank you. Truly."

 

John sighed a sigh of relief before smiling widely and nodding his head. "Of course, Sherlock. It would be my pleasure." Sherlock blushed at his words, glancing down at his feet, then back up as John cleared his throat and continued. "We, um, we could go to Angelo's tonight? I have rugby practice today but only for a little while, so I'll be done by 4. We could meet there at 5? If you're free?"

 

Sherlock internally giggled at the flustered hurry of John's words. "Yes, that works quite well for me. I will see you tonight, John." Sherlock smiled before turning around, blushing rather furiously, and going to his next class. 

 

Sherlock spent the remainder of the morning and the afternoon thinking of nothing other than John. He was nervous and fidgety for tonight, but oh, so fucking excited. 

 

 

****************

 

"Hey, Sherlock!" John found Sherlock leaning against the edge of the building, seemingly waiting for John. John took a moment to truly observe the taller student's features. Jesus, look at those cheekbones, he thought, and those lips. And those curls. And those eyes, god they're gorgeous. He snapped out of his own mind as he heard Sherlock's deep voice greet him.  

 

"Hello, John." Sherlock smiled softly and nodded to the door, beckoning John to follow him in. 

 

Sherlock introduced John to the owner, Angelo, who had apparently been a friend of the Holmes family. Angelo led the boys to the back of the restaurant where a small booth could be found, surrounded by fairy lights, perfect studying conditions. A waiter, upon the owner's request, brought them biscuits and tea, telling them they could stay as long as they needed. John thought he saw the waiter suggestively wink at Sherlock, but he was unsure. 

 

They began working and Sherlock was baffled at how unbelievably brilliant John was. He knew so much about art and art history, and was so passionate about it, Sherlock had never listened to someone so much. He was like a sponge, absorbing every single word that left his new tutor's mouth, drinking it down like he would die without it. He felt something like a flutter in his chest as John began talking about the piece they were studying and what it meant to him.

 

"I don't know, I just love this one. I think, for me anyway, that it represents the struggle of being stuck in your own mind. Being unable to escape your own thoughts, being angry at everyone and everything even though you know the only one you're really mad at is yourself. When there's a never-ending feeling of dread because you just want to be happy and content but you're focused so much on trying to get there that you completely overwhelm and overwork your mind. Then, you're just stuck. I've been there a few times in my life so far and it's a horrible feeling I wouldn't wish on anyone. Not even my worst enemy." John's eyes were emotional as he spoke, even more so when he looked at Sherlock and saw that his eyes reflected exactly what his own had. It wasn't necessary for Sherlock to tell John that he knew, and currently lived in, that mental state. 

 

"Wow. You're brilliant. I could never describe it like that." Sherlock's words were sincere, and John felt a blush creep up his neck and cheeks at his praise. 

 

The two eventually finished their work and they both felt comfortable that the younger boy had done a rather nice job on his essay and they felt confident that Mrs. Thomas would be impressed by his re-submission. They were both hungry after the several hours of studying so they ordered dinner and continued to talk. The conversation was easy and comfortable, there were a few moments, however, that Sherlock would find John's eyes and would see something there that he couldn't quite figure out. It wasn't hateful like most people's. If he hadn't known better, he would've thought there was something like adoration in his glare. 

 

  
  
  
  
"Alrighty, boys. We're closing up, now. It's half past 11, you two should head on home."

 

Both of them were surprised to hear that they had been talking for over 5 hours. Time passed way too fast for their liking, neither wanting the night to end. They thanked Angelo for his service and Sherlock gave him a generous tip before they walked out the door. 

 

"John, I'm sorry if this sounds weird but I live just a moment away and... well, would you like to spend the night and I can drive you to school in the morning?" Sherlock tried his best not to blush or show his true feelings. He almost succeeded. 

 

John thought it over, "That would be great, actually. Thank you."

 

"Of course." 

 

They began their trip to Sherlock's holme. (A/N I AM SO SORRY FOR THAT HORRIBLE PUN, BUT I REALLY FELT IT NECESSARY AND I HOPE YOU ALL STILL LOVE ME. I'M SORRY, BUT I DON'T REGRET IT. ANYWAY, CONTINUING THE STORY) They strolled along, chatting away, giggling, making up inside jokes and batting eyelashes. The walk, much like their studying session, ended far too quickly.

 

 

They awkwardly went upstairs, both trying to figure out how to ask the question. 

 

John cleared his throat, "So, where shall I sleep?" He asked.

 

Sherlock simply said, "You can sleep in my bed if you'd like. It's much more comfortable than the floor and it's definitely big enough for the both of us."

 

John nodded as he removed his shoes and his jacket. Sherlock luckily had a shirt and pyjama trousers that fit John, so he left for the bathroom to change as Sherlock dressed in his own room. The older boy came back and stepped to the side of the bed, Sherlock on the other. They silently climbed in, a bit of distance between the two. 

  
"Goodnight, Sherlock," John whispered to the darkness, laying on his back. 

 

"Goodnight, John." 

 

They laid silently for several minutes before Sherlock turned onto his side, inching just a little bit closer to John. He sensed the movement and did the same, turning to look at Sherlock, whose face was slightly illuminated by a small beam of moonlight coming through his window. Sherlock would scoot more towards John after a moment or two, followed by John, then Sherlock, then John, until they were right next to each other, noses almost touching. 

 

"Sherlock," John whispered, eyes darting to Sherlock's plush lips and then back to his eyes. 

 

"John." Sherlock closed the gap between them, gently placing his lips against John's. He waited a moment, perfectly still, making sure it was alright for him to do this. John gasped and moved his lips, Sherlock immediately following. The younger boy felt a warm hand on the side of his face, fingers twirling in his curls, as John pulled him in even closer. Their kiss was sweet and soft, a touch of uncertainty at the new turn their relationship had taken. Sherlock broke the kiss, intending to ask if he had John's permission to continue, but the older boy was having none of that. Sherlock chuckled as he crashed his lips against his own. The taller boy soon made to sit up, swinging a leg over, planting his knee at the side of John's hip. Neither broke the kiss as John rolled onto his back and Sherlock sat on top of him. The kiss had picked up speed, and they were now hungrily devouring each other, hands roaming freely of the other's body. 

 

Their kiss broke for a split second as Sherlock eagerly tore his shirt off, then John's. Their mouths quickly reconnected, lips sliding everywhere, teeth nibbling on bottom lips. Sherlock's pulse was so strong that when John latched his lips to his neck, he could feel it beating and ran his tongue over it, also feeling the vibration of Sherlock's moan. He licked and sucked, nibbled and kissed his way down Sherlock's neck, listening to the heavy breathing of the man above him. He soon longed for Sherlock's lips again and leaned up, forcing their lips together. Hard. So hard that Sherlock's left elbow buckled, causing Sherlock to fall and consequently bang his forehead against John's. "Ow! Fuck! John?" He hoisted himself into a sitting position and looked down. At first he thought John was in pain but soon he discovered that John was laughing.

 

John's laughter caused Sherlock to giggle, and then guffaw. Both of them stayed in their positions, laughing so hard that tears clouded their vision. John took several  _calming_ breaths, trying to regather himself enough to speak. "Fucking hell, Sherlock," his lips twitched again involuntarily, curling at the corners as he tried his best to suppress another laughing fit. He failed. 

 

"John..." Sherlock wheezed his name. They took more deep breaths, many more deep breaths, trying to steady themselves. Sherlock was finally composed enough to smile at John and leaned down to steal another kiss. Instead of having Sherlock collapse on top of him for a second time, John was smart enough to roll Sherlock onto his back, placing himself on Sherlock. The heat from their pre-incident came back almost immediately. Sherlock broke the kiss as his back arched, due to the grinding of John's hips against his groin. In a flash, he felt his pajama bottoms being tugged off, then his pants. He heard the older man gasp when his erection sprung from its confines. Sherlock watched as John got off the bed, practically tore the rest of his clothes off, and then hastily climbed back onto the bed. 

 

"Sherlock, do you have-" John began to ask but was cut off by a nod from Sherlock before he reached over to the bedside table. He turned on the light, illuminating the room with a soft, golden glow, threw open the drawer and gave John the bottle of lube. "Perfect," John whispered, more to himself than Sherlock but still loud enough for him to hear it. Sherlock blushed when he lifted his hips, allowing John to place the pillow he'd picked up under him. 

 

John dove under the covers, slicking up his left hand and placing it against Sherlock's entrance, simultaneously pressing his lips to Sherlock's thighs, abdomen, and eventually his cock. Sherlock couldn't decide whether he should plead for more or just come right then and there as John's left-hand index finger circled around Sherlock's entrance. John must've realized Sherlock's position because with a final lick, he withdrew his mouth from around his cock and focused solely on the task at (left) hand, which was to prepare him. 

 

Sherlock moaned, rather obscenely, as John's finger curled. John enjoyed what it did to him, so, of course, he did it again and again and again, until he felt Sherlock was ready for a second finger, then he did it some more. Sherlock's moan turned into an almost scream as the older man's fingers brushed his prostate. 

 

"Oh, for fuck's sake, John! Stop teasing me and get on with it!" Sherlock yelled between moans, hoping John would take the goddamn hint. 

 

John chuckled, withdrew his fingers and pressed 3 in, making sure Sherlock was efficiently prepared before taking his fingers back out, filling his palm with lube, and rubbing it onto himself. He gave himself a few tugs to release a little bit of the tension before lining himself up and slowly, slowly sliding into Sherlock. He didn't stop until he was all the way in, giving them both a moment to adjust to the new sensation. Sherlock hissed at the initial extra stretch but quickly returned to moaning. He nodded his head after a minute, giving John the permission to begin moving. John slowly pulled almost all the way out, before sliding back in, not overly forcefully, but at the perfect speed. If Sherlock's moan was anything to go by, John had just hit his prostate. He did it again, and again, and again, moaning and groaning and whining at the feel of Sherlock's tight, hot heat around him. 

 

Sherlock moved his legs, wrapping them around John's waist, which altered their position enough that John relentlessly brushed Sherlock's prostate with almost every thrust. Sherlock reached up, wrapping his arm around John, pulling him into a passionate, sloppy kiss. Sherlock moaned into John's mouth, getting closer and closer to release. John started to pick up his pace, knowing that they were both almost there. A few deep, hard thrusts later, John took the younger man's neglected cock and gave it two pulls. Sherlock was screaming his new  _friend's_ name, spilling all over his stomach and John's hand. Sherlock's orgasm must've been too much for John, for he thrust one more time before he stilled and let out a filthy moan, coming inside of Sherlock. Sherlock was twitching below him, the shock of his orgasm still lingering.

 

They stayed in that position until the aftershocks of their orgasms wore off; John slid out of Sherlock with a soft  _pop,_  before using all of his energy to crawl back next to the younger man, plopping back down on the bed. Sherlock's eyes were closed, a faint smile playing at his lips, breathing heavily.

 

"Are you alright, love?" John asked.

 

"Absolutely perfect, John," he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at John, smiling, looking positively drunk. 

 

John chuckled and pressed a sweet kiss to Sherlock's temple, then his lips. The younger man cuddled up around John, throwing one tired, heavy leg over John's and wrapping his arm around the shorter man's torso, pressing his face into John's bare chest. He placed a couple of chaste kisses on the older man's chest before whispering, "Goodnight, John."

 

John gave a content sigh, kissed Sherlock's disheveled, sex-tousled curls, and happily said, "Goodnight, love."

 

*******************

 

Sherlock's alarm screeched, waking them both up. When they opened their sleep heavy eyes, they noticed that they were both still naked (of course) and that their limbs were tangled together. Sherlock reluctantly pulled from John's embrace, willing himself to get out of bed before the desire to stay in it all day took over. He lifted his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his arms high above his head and yawning. Before he knew what he was doing, John grabbed Sherlock's wrist and pulled him back onto the bed, smiling. 

 

"Good morning," he whispered, looking deep into Sherlock's eyes. He brought their lips together in a sweet kiss. 

 

Sherlock smiled into the kiss before leaning back, his eyes still closed. He let out a soft hum before opening his eyes, "Excellent morning, I think."

 

John giggled before pressing their lips together again quickly. He groaned as Sherlock stood back up, pulling him along with him. They got dressed, not bothering to change in different rooms, considering last night's events, it wasn't exactly necessary. They flashed each other mischievous grins that silently screamed, 'Go ahead and get dressed, I'm gonna tear that off of you when we get back here anyway.' They made their way into the kitchen where the older man fixed them both a full English breakfast. 

 

******************

 

"Mr. Holmes! I am extremely impressed with this essay! You did a wonderful job." Mrs. Thomas beamed, making Sherlock blush as he thought about his study session with John. 

 

"Thank you, Mrs. Thomas." He smiled and left the classroom, finding John waiting on the other side of the door. 

 

"Ready to go, love?" He asked, planting a gentle kiss on Sherlock's cheek. 

 

He smiled, "Yeah. Let's go," he took John's hand and intertwined their fingers. They walked hand in hand back to Sherlock's flat and as soon as the door closed, they were at it again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a weird one. Sherlock and John are married and John is still in Afghanistan. John's letters are in italics and Sherlock's letters are bold. Sherlock is the moon and John is the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you like this chapter and if you have any requests or constructive criticism, please don't forget to comment! Thanks, loves <3

_"My Dear Moon,_

_I miss you more than words are capable of describing. I miss your kisses. I miss the way your skin feels, the way your lips feel on mine. Your arms around me and mine around you. I miss your gorgeous eyes, and your smile. I miss your words and your voice. I miss my heart, my soul, my moon. I miss you, Sherlock._

_I can't wait to be released from the confines of this layer of hell. I can't wait to return home to you. I can imagine it now... I'd get off the plane and you'd be waiting for me, I'd run into your arms and kiss you with everything I'm worth. Then we'd get in a cab and go to Baker Street, you'd take me to bed and... well, my love, I believe you can decide this part._

_Sometimes I still find it hard to believe that you love me. I know, we've talked about this before, but I still feel guilty that I have to be here instead of with you. I'm sorry, Sherlock. But. I do have fantastic news. Like, so fantastic that it might make you cry, I know it made me cry._

 

 

_I'm coming home soon, Sherlock. Remember when I was told that I wouldn't be home for another 11 months? Well, that's changed. 4 months. 4 bloody months, Sherlock! 4 months and I'll be home to you! We can make it through 4 more months, Sherlock. Hell, we've already made it almost 3 years, what's 4 more months? Oh god, I'm just so happy, Sherlock! I can't believe it. I'm counting the days, the hours, the minutes, and the seconds, waiting to see you again. I'll see you soon, my beautiful, wonderful, incredible, unbelievable, genius husband._

_Enough about me, though. How are you doing, my love? Has Lestrade given you another case yet? Are you running about the streets of London, searching for a crazed murderer? Or, are you bored out of your mind? Tell me how you are, my love._

 

_4 months, baby. 4 months and it won't just be another 3 day visit. It'll be forever. I couldn't be happier! I miss you so much, Sherlock. So much it hurts. I don't know if I'll be able to survive one more day without you._

_I love you, my wonderful moon."_

 

_\---John Watson Holmes_

 

 

 

**My Dearest Sun,**

**I miss you too, John. So, so, so much. I hate that you have to be in pain, especially by yourself. I'm sorry.**

**4 MONTHS?!?!?! 4 MONTHS, JOHN! You'll be home to me in 4 months. I can't believe it. John, I would kiss the absolute fucking hell out of you right now if I could. Oh, I'm so happy!**

**Soon, my love. Soon you'll feel my kisses and my skin against yours. Soon you'll feel my arms around you, you'll hear my words and my voice. Soon couldn't come fast enough but we can do it, my sun. of course we can. I also believe that it is quite safe to say you will be heavily rewarded, many times, in many ways upon your arrival home. And, since it is your homecoming, I suppose I'd be willing to try just about anything. Everything is on the table... including on the table. God, I can't wait to kiss you again.**

**I'm quite well, John. I've been eating and sleeping as you've not so kindly ordered. Yes, I have just obtained a case from Gavin this morning. There is a rather idiotic serial killer running about, desperate to get caught; 4 homicides so far. But, don't worry your pretty little head for I assure you the killer will be in custody by dinner, your time, tomorrow.**

**It's you I worry about, John. Do you need another care package yet? Toothpaste? Toiletries? Tea? Lube? I'm not there to help you, John, so I figure you must be doing it for yourself (as long as no one else is doing it for you). If that's the case, and you are pleasuring yourself whilst I'm not there, send me a picture, my sexy army doctor, give me a taste of what I've been missing so much. If you do need something, I've got a rather interesting gift I picked up the other day, so I'll send them both at the same time.**

**My dearest sun, the time will fly by. You must survive 4 more months, I need you back here with me. Life is dull without you, my love, and I count the seconds until your back home in my arms. I love you, my wonderful, perfect, extraordinary, brilliant husband. I'll see you soon.**

 

 

**\---Sherlock Watson Holmes**

 

 

 

 

His knees were weak, his fingers alternating between anxiously drumming against his leg and spinning the wedding ring on his left hand over and over as he waited. His stomach was in knots, whether from excitement or nerves he was unsure; he hadn't eaten since the day before. How could he? How could he focus on something as dull as eating when John was coming home? His John. 4 years of no more than 7 day visits every several months, little communication, no touching or hugging or kissing or speaking, god, John was finally coming home, for good. 

 

_Come on, John. Come on, just walk through that doorway. Please. Come on. I need to see you. Come on!_ Sherlock gasped as his eyes found the man in bulky camouflage turn the corner. Sherlock was suddenly running, feet pounding on the hard tile floors of the airport, tears burning his eyes, clouding his vision, the only audible sound being his heartbeat coursing through his ears.  _Oh my god! Oh my god! John!_ Sherlock ran into John's arms, knocking them both to the floor. Sherlock sobbed into John's neck and John wrapped his arms around Sherlock so tight that he was scared he might break him. Tears ran down John's cheeks as he held Sherlock, both of them laying still on the floor, too wrapped up in each other to care. 

 

Sherlock eventually moved his head from its position in the crook of John's neck and crashed their lips together, both of them sobbing at the sensation they'd both been desperate to remember. 

 

"I've missed you so much, John. I can't believe you're finally here. Here. With me. I love you so much!" Sherlock smiled so hard his cheeks hurt, but he could hardly notice anything besides John's body pressed against his own, his arms wrapped around him, his lips wet and swollen from being attacked by his own mouth, his eyes filled with so much love and joy that it made Sherlock's heart melt at the sight.

 

"Oh god, Sherlock," he sobbed, pressing their lips together again, "God, you wouldn't believe how much I've missed you. Jesus, I love you, too." John rolled Sherlock onto his back and held him for a minute more before sitting up, Sherlock refusing to let go of his hold on John's neck, and John not wanting him to. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist as John stood up. He carried Sherlock through the airport, kissing and nuzzling his nose into Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was still slightly hiccuping, a tear here and there still breaking the surface. The men got into a cab and couldn't keep their hands off of each other. They sat side by side, Sherlock's head resting on John's shoulder, both of his arms wrapped around John's torso, squeezing. John kept kissing Sherlock's curls, occasionally lifting the younger man's chin up so their lips met. 

 

When they finally got back to Baker Street, John carried Sherlock up the stairs and directly into the bedroom.  

 

John  _respectfully_ tore off his uniform jacket as Sherlock took off his trousers. John was completely naked, Sherlock following soon after. They found their way to the bed, kissing like mad, hands exploring every part of the other's body, dying to get the feel of one another's skin under their fingers. Sherlock rolled John onto his back, placing himself on top, leaning forward to kiss, lick and suck at John's neck. 

 

His back arched, pressing their chests together, and he moaned as Sherlock skillfully teased that spot behind John's ear that he knew drove him mad. Sherlock reluctantly disconnected himself from John as he leaned over to grab the bottle of lube off the nightstand. He bent down, capturing John's lips with another passionate, emotional kiss. His mind was so focused on having Sherlock _here_ with him that he didn't even hear the opening of the lube bottle. The older man moaned into the other man's mouth as Sherlock's hand wrapped around John's cock, covering it with the slippery gel. Sherlock broke the kiss, moving up, one hand behind him, guiding John's cock to his entrance, he slowly bore down, hissing slightly at the stretch, but a look of complete satisfaction on his face. Once he had sat down completely, he and John alike let out the breaths they didn't know they were holding. John's hands flew to Sherlock's hip as he slowly lifted himself up, allowing John to almost completely slide out, screaming a moan as he snapped back down, the head of John's cock relentlessly slamming into his prostate. John groaned at the feeling, mesmerized as Sherlock did it again, and again, and again. 

 

Sherlock's moans were almost constant, the sound alone making John so incredibly hard that it almost hurt. He leaned up at the same time Sherlock leaned down, kissing him again. When John broke the kiss, he realized that Sherlock was crying as the younger man tried to steal another kiss, stopping as John's hand pressed against his chest. "Sherlock? Oh god, love, are you okay?" He lifted his hand, bringing it up to Sherlock's cheek, brushing away a single fallen tear. John's face immediately showed concern and panic, "Did I do something wrong? Are you in pain-" he was cut off by Sherlock's lips slamming into his own again.

 

"God, no! I'm sorry, you're not doing anything wrong, in fact you're doing amazing," Sherlock smiled wide as he saw John blush at his words, "I just - I can't believe you're here. Actually here. You're finally home and it's for good this time. I don't have to worry about you leaving again in two days are going back to that awful place. I'm so happy that you're finally here, John." Sherlock sniffled, removed his hands from their place on John's bare chest, and brought them to his eyes, rubbing away the tears that were still threatening to form. 

 

"Oh, baby. I'm so sorry I was gone for so long. I'm so sorry I left you. I missed you so fucking much, Sherlock. I don't think I could've handled one more day without you, I'm so glad to be home. Come here, love," he pulled Sherlock down again, giving him a long, sweet kiss. When the kiss broke, he cleared his throat and looked down at where him and Sherlock were connected, "Now, can we please finish the task at hand?"

 

Sherlock laughed and gave his bum a wiggle, smiling at John's immediate reaction. He quickly resumed their original pace, hips up, John sliding almost all the way out, and crashing his hips back down at the same time John thrust up, John's cock finding Sherlock's prostate every time. They were soon panting, moaning and groaning and making many other noises, screaming words of praise. 

 

"Oh god, I-I'm close... John. Fuck! Mmmmmmmmmm!" Sherlock let out the filthiest moan John had ever heard, releasing onto John's abdomen. John thrust one more time before his back arched, his toes curled, and he saw stars, screaming as he came inside of Sherlock. Both of their orgasms were so powerful that Sherlock thought he could probably feel the number of hairs on John's legs and John couldn't voluntarily move as the rest of his orgasm made it's way through his body, leaving him twitching. 

 

After several minutes, Sherlock slid off of John, using every muscle in his body as he cuddled up around John. He placed a gentle kiss on his lips, opening his eyes to see John smiling at him. 

 

"What?"

 

"I love you. If we weren't already married, I would slide right off this bed and propose to you again."

 

Sherlock giggled, begging his body not to let his cheeks go red, which they, of course, did. "I love you, too, John. If we weren't already married, I would say yes again... and again and again and again," Sherlock smiled as he lifted his head up again, kissing John with so much passion that, despite having just come less than 15 minutes ago, he found himself hard. Without breaking the kiss, John swung his leg over Sherlock, putting himself on top this time. 

 

"Ready for round two, then, love?" He giggled, then moaned when he felt Sherlock's hand around his cock, pulling. 

 

"God, yes! I've been waiting bloody months for you to get home, John, and if you'll remember in my letter, I told you you would be rewarded many, many times in many, many ways upon your arrival." Sherlock smiled a devilish smile as he rolled John back onto his back, then getting off of him. 

 

"Where are you going?"

 

Sherlock didn't answer as he walked to the closet, pulling out the handcuffs and ball-gag he knew John loved. "On your knees, arse up," he commanded, grinning as John whimpered and more than willingly obeyed. 

 

 

 

 

"FUCK, SHERLOCK! JESUS, RIGHT THERE! Oh god, HARDER!" John screamed as Sherlock relentlessly pounded into him, crying out as he came again, Sherlock following almost immediately after. "My fucking god, I'm so glad I'm home," John whispered as Sherlock collapsed on the bed beside him. 

 

"Me as well, John. I love you, my gorgeous sun." 

 

"I love you too, my brilliant moon."

 

They fell into a deep sleep, both exhausted from the exciting day and extra-curricular activities they'd just participated in.

  
When they woke up, they did it all over again.  


	13. Happy Birthday, John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is John's 50th birthday, we're gonna say Rosie is 5 or 6. John is not exactly 'happy' about his birthday, but the two people he loves the most make up for it. Aww, isn't that sweet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosie calls Sherlock Da. I have no idea why, I don't know if I read it somewhere or if it was my own idea but "dad" didn't work for me and John is "papa." Enjoy :)

Sherlock woke to a very small figure obnoxiously yanking his shoulder and hurriedly whispering in his ear. 

 

"Rosie? Are you okay, love?" Sherlock's sleep heavy voice whispered, squinting his eyes to see Rosie in the extremely early morning darkness. 

 

"Da. We have to go!" She tried her best to whisper, mindful of her sleeping father, who was lightly snoring next to Sherlock. 

 

"Go? Go where? Ro - Rosie!" He watched as she quickly and quietly tip toed out of the room, waving her hand behind her, beckoning Sherlock to follow. He groaned as he slipped his warm feet into slippers, stretched, and wandered into the living room. He sighed as Rosie put on her light up sneakers and smiled at him widely. 

 

"Come on, Da! We have to go shopping for papa!" Her excited little face quickly soured as a thought crossed her mind. She scowled as she asked, "Did you forget?"

 

Sherlock pursed his lips, attempting to stifle a giggle, "Of course not, Ro. But, it is," he checked his watch, "5 o'clock in the morning. Not many places are going to be open yet, love."

 

She rolled her eyes as she hopped off the couch, seemingly ignoring his statement. He watched as she went over to her little backpack, opened it, and pulled out a sparkly notebook with little space cats plastered on the cover, and a pencil. 

 

She plopped herself back on the sofa, opening her notebook and began writing. "We need cake. Obviously. Cake is a necceccessissity." She scowled at Sherlock, who, despite his best efforts, had laughed at her attempt to pronounce 'necessity,' and, with a roll of her eyes, continued. "And we need presents. Lots and lots of presents. We need balloons and more balloons in all the colours. And we need flowers! We have to get Papa flowers, Da!" She wrote down her 'list of thingies' and proudly displayed it.

 

After reading the list, the man giggled again, nodding his head, "Wonderful job, Ro. Of course we do. Let me get dressed, I'll fix you a quick breakfast and we can go get cake, lots and lots of presents, all of the balloons, and flowers. Did I miss anything?"

 

Rosie smiled, practically bursting with excitement, "That's very satisfactory, Da."

 

Sherlock smiled at her response, "Very satisfactory, indeed. You can colour in your bee book for a few minutes while I get ready, yes?"

 

"Mmmmhmm!" 

 

He turned and walked into their bedroom, basically turning into a ninja, avoiding any creaky floorboards so as not to wake the sleeping beauty. He carefully picked out his favorite black suit and the purple shirt he knows John  _loves_ (to rip off, but loves, nonetheless...those damned buttons.) When Sherlock returned to the living room, Rosie was laying on her tummy, coloring the meadow in the background, the giant, smiling bumblebee had already been coloured in. 

 

"You're doing a wonderful job, Rose. Are you ready to go?" He smiled lovingly at her as she nodded her head and gently closed her book, put her crayons back in their box, and put them both in her backpack.   
  
  


***********

 

Stop one: Balloons. 

 

"Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white, black, silver, and a rainbow. We can order a couple of the 'happy birthday' ones, too, of course. But, those are the colors they have. Which ones do you think papa wants?"

 

Rosie thought it over, long and hard, until she came to the conclusion, "Two of each! And then all 5 of the different birthday ones!" She smiled proudly at her response, looking to Sherlock to see if he had the same thought. 

 

Sherlock chuckled, for a mere second his mind thought about how expensive all of these damn balloons were going to be, as well as everything else Rosie had planned, but that thought quickly vanished when he looked at her smiling face and thought about how much this, and John, meant to the both of them, and how much they wanted to show their appreciation of him. "I'm sure papa will love it, Ro." He smiled fondly at her, then proceeded to order the balloons. 

 

Stop one: Complete!

 

***********

 

Stop two: Presents. 

 

"Da! This one! Papa will love it!" Rosie picked up a coffee mug that read, 'Papa Bear,' and put it in the almost overflowing basket that was currently breaking Sherlock's arm. 

 

"Okay, Ro. I think this is plenty of gifts. We live in a very, very small flat, please remember that." He giggled as her face momentarily fell to a frown, then lit back up again as she saw something else. 

 

"Fine, but. Can we get that, too? Please, Da?" Sherlock turned, following where her finger was pointing. His eyes landed on a Grey's Anatomy colouring book. They walked to the book, picking it up and flipping through the pages. They saw organs, many organs, hearts, livers, arteries, brains, appendixes, gallbladders, and the likes of it. 

 

"I think he's going to love it!" 

 

She smiled a proud, satisfied smile and with a basket full of gifts, they made their way to the front of the store to pay. When they left the store, they went to the morgue, using one of the big tables to wrap John's gifts, before setting on their way. 

 

Stop two: Complete!

 

**********

 

Stop three: Flowers.

 

The pair arrived at a floral shop, the smell of a plethora of flowers assaulting their senses, but bringing a quiet calmness to the day. They wandered about the shop for roughly 30 minutes before deciding on their purchases. Sherlock bought John red roses, as a simple reminder of his love and their  _blossoming_ romance. Rosie brought her father sunflowers for adoration (also, because 'Da, they're so so so pretty and if I love them, Papa loves them, too').

 

Stop three: Complete!

 

*********

 

Stop four: Cake.

 

"So. Many. Designs." Sherlock stared in awe at the enormous variety of differently decorated cakes, shielded by the thick plastic plate. "So many," he whispered to himself. 

 

Rosie giggled at his reaction and spent 15 minutes walking back and forth, alternating between, "This one," "No,  _this_ one, "Actually, that one." She finally decided on a beautiful vanilla cake, with vanilla frosting ('of course, Da! It has to match the inside!'), with "Happy Birthday!" written in multicolored icing.

 

"Do you think he's going to like what we did for him, Da?"

 

"I'm certain he will absolutely love everything you do for him, Rose," he smiled at her softly, taking her hand as they walked back to the car. 

 

Stop four: Complete!

 

***********

 

Sherlock and Rosie arrived back at the flat around 8 AM, before John had woken up. As stealthily as they could, they brought up the balloons, presents, flowers, and cake up to the flat. They spent the remaining 47 minutes until John awoke to decorate the flat. They let the balloons wander the living room and kitchen, set up the flowers, put the cake in the fridge, and decorated the kitchen table with his gifts and some old pieces of confetti Rosie had stashed away in her room. 

 

The little girl sat in the living room, colouring in her book, while Sherlock made tea, knowing John would be awake any minute. John drudged into the living room, yawning and rubbing his eyes, as the kettle began whistling. 

 

Sherlock quickly removed the kettle from its place on the burner and turned back to John, watching as Rosie looked up and shouted, "Happy birthday, Papa!" She ran to him and embraced her father and he kissed her curly hair. 

 

"Thank you, Rosie! What have you, uh," he quickly glanced around the room, taking in the celebratory scenery, "What have you two been doing?" 

 

Sherlock was standing behind Rosie, smiling at the two of them. Rosie let go of her father and rambled about the morning's activities, from balloons to cake to decorating, 'all while you slept like a big sleepyhead.'

 

The two men chuckled as she ran around the room, finally settling in her signature spot on the living room, colouring again. Sherlock stepped to John, pulling him into his arms and kissing his forehead, "Happy birthday, John," he whispered into his hair. 

 

"Mm. Thank you, love." He moved his head from its position on Sherlock's chest and brought their lips together in a sweet, gentle kiss. "Thank you, for everything, no one's ever gone all out like this for me. Thank you, Sherlock."

 

"You deserve much more than this, John. You deserve to be celebrated every day," John blushed and shook his head, but the motion was quickly halted as the detective kissed him again. "I mean it, John. I love you. So does Rosie."

 

"I love you, too, baby. Thank you." He sighed as Sherlock kissed his forehead, again.

 

"This was all her idea. The gifts and the balloons and the cake, she picked out the sunflowers and how the flat would be decorated. She's been having a great time setting this up for you." The taller man leaned in, his lips hovering above John's ear. He brought his voice to a low whisper, "I may have picked up a thing or two,  _separately_ , that might interest you later tonight, once Rosie's gone to bed. I can guarantee that what I have in mind is extra cause for celebration." He pressed a feather soft kiss to John's ear, then his neck, then his lips, before abruptly pulling back, "Tea?" 

 

"Mm. I'd love some," he quickly added, "bastard," under his breath, watching as his man prepared their tea. 

 

"Who wants cake for breakfast?" John asked, smiling as he already knew the answer. 

 

"ME! Me! Me! I want cake for breakfast, Papa!" Rosie jumped off the floor and ran to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pointed to the top shelf where the cake had been placed. 

 

John laughed and made his way to the fridge. He smiled at the nicely decorated cake and set it on the counter before cutting into it and putting a piece on each of the three plates. 

 

"Holy shit!" John exclaimed as he put a forkful of cake into his mouth. 

 

"Papa!" Rosie gasped. 

 

"John! Language!" Sherlock tried to sound stern, but his lips involuntarily twitched up and he sputtered, sounding like a sprinkler, as he tried to stifle his laugh. 

 

John giggled out his apology. 

 

The family sat around the table as John opened his presents. The day was over far too soon, but the night had only just begun. The couple kissed Rosie on the cheeks and thanked her for her efforts to make John's birthday a happy one. They closed the door and went to their bedroom. 

 

"So," John placed a hand on either of Sherlock's hips, and slowly brought them together, "I was told I had an extra gift?"

 

"Well of course, John." Sherlock smiled mischievously at the doctor before removing his hands from his hips and picking up the bag that leaned against the wall. 

 

John took the bag and laughed as he pulled out a bright red fabric. "Red. Red pants," he looked up at Sherlock, a goofy smile plastered on his face, "Red pants, Sherlock." He giggled before pressing a quick kiss to the detectives lips. 

 

"Obviously. I thought they... suited you. There's more," He gestured to the bag.

 

"Lube, of course. And, let's see, what is this?" John set the lube on the bed before reaching his arm into the bag again and taking out a large scrapbook. "Is this? Is this of Rosie?" He looked up in time to see Sherlock nodding. 

 

John opened the book and tears immediately began forming. His eyes scanned over her first picture, at Mary's ultrasound, then a picture of Mary holding her, a picture of her first diaper being changed, a picture of her in a little dress, a couple others of her just in the moment, the rest all taken after Mary's passing. All of her captured 'firsts' had been put into the book, little notes about the dates and small details written in Sherlock's handwriting. 

 

John's face was stained with tears, his eyelashes were wet, his nose ran, and he was silently sobbing as he turned each page and found a new picture of his gorgeous daughter. When he finished the book, he looked up at Sherlock, who seemed concerned. 

 

"Sherlock..."

 

"Did I do it wrong? Do you dislike it?"

 

John gently set the book on the bed before leaping onto Sherlock, his arms instinctively wrapping around the shorter man's body. "I love it so much, Sherlock. It's perfect." He sniffled again before tightening his hold around Sherlock's neck and slamming their lips together. The taller man smiled into their kiss; he moved his hands down to the back of John's thighs and lifted him up, drawing a muffled squeal from the doctor, who quickly wrapped his legs around the taller man's waist. "Thank you, love. It's perfect. I couldn't have asked for something so wonderful. Thank you," he whispered before kissing him again.

 

"Of course, John. There's plenty of room left for any pictures we take of Rosie's growth. I thought you both would like something to keep the memories fresh."

 

"I love it, Sherlock. I love you so fucking much." He pressed their lips together again, this time with more passion and more longing, hoping Sherlock would get the hint. 

 

"I love you too, John. Can I please take you to bed now?"

 

"Oh god, yes." 

 

 

 

Let's just say that this was  _definitely_ a birthday John would never forget.  

 

 


	14. I'm sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think we can all agree that I'm a horrible person. I can't even think of a summary, honestly. You will know what's happening when you read the first sentence, I promise. Enjoy!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so unbelievably sorry! I had to go away with my family for a few days and had NO time to write whatsoever, and when I got home I was drowning in schoolwork (fun, right?) and getting back into the habit of writing has been a real pain in the arse. BUT! I am back and as I've already said, I am a horrible person, so enjoy the angst! Thanks for reading! Don't forget to recommend, comment, and kudos! I literally breathe for them, you have no idea. ...Okay, shutting up.

"I love you, John. I know I'm not supposed to, and I'm certain you don't feel the same, but I just needed you to know," Sherlock whispered softly, his voice slightly cracking, his eyes staring at a random spot on the floor, a single tear rolling down his cheek. 

  


John said nothing. He didn't move an inch, he didn't blink, or smile, or frown; it didn't even appear as though he was properly breathing. His eyes were vacant, not a single emotion projecting through them, as he listened to Sherlock speak. 

  


In a sudden rush, his brain seemed to come back online, and he inhaled a sharp breath, shaking his head as Sherlock's eyes darted back up to his own. 

  


"I... I can't. I can't do this right now. No. I can't. I just... I- I can't." He stumbled backwards, away from Sherlock, turning to grab his coat off the hook by the door, before throwing open the door and hastily pounding down the stairs. 

  


At the sound of the door to 221 slamming shut, Sherlock felt like the wind had been completely knocked out of him. He dropped to his knees, his eyes overflowing and burning with tears.  _You ruined it. You ruined everything, just like you always do. Everyone is right, you are a freak, a machine, a psychopath. He's never coming back because of you. You're disgusting and destructive, you ruin everything you touch. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve something that perfect. You're a disgrace._ He sobbed into his hands, never having loathed his own existence, his own self, as much as he does in this moment. 

  


  


Eventually, he found the strength to remove himself from the floor. His feet began moving, his brain completely unaware of his actions. He found himself going up the stairs that lead to John's bedroom. His arms opened the door, his mind still entirely vacant, he moved with no grace, no emotion, he couldn't feel his body weight shifting as he walked, he couldn't feel the metal of the door handle as he turned it, he couldn't feel his heartbeat, he couldn't feel the raw, stinging feeling of his eyes due to crying, he couldn't feel his lungs, all he could feel, all he could think about, was  _John, John is gone._

  


Before he knew what he was doing, he was opening the John's wardrobe door, and pulling out the jumper he had deduced to be John's favourite. His senses were attacked by the heavenly scent that could be described only as 'John' as he bundled up the sweater by his face and inhaled. He grabbed a second jumper, pulling it over his thin, but admittedly taller frame, before staggering backwards, and collapsing onto John's made bed. _This_ , Sherlock thought,  _this is where it smells like him the most._  He pulled back the covers, laying down in the fetal position, clinging to John's jumper as if his life depended on it. He pulled the heavy blanket up around him, and it was only then he realized that he was shivering. He felt another tear roll down the side of his face as he let sleep take over him. 

  


He didn't sleep peacefully, however. No, his dreams were nightmares, memories of John leaving him plagued his sleeping mind. He dreams of running through a long hallway, knowing John would be at the end, his feet stomped, he ran faster than he ever had, each step getting harder as his breathing quickened and his lungs burned. After finally arriving at the end of the hallway, he saw a beautiful girl sitting upon John's lap. One of his hands was playing in her curly blonde hair, the other wrapped around her thin waist. He was whispering in her ear, pressing soft kisses to the side of her neck, seemingly oblivious to Sherlock's arrival. Sherlock stood, his heart beating impossibly fast, no longer from the running, but because now John is looking at the girl with so much love in his eyes, so much adoration and fondness for the creature above him, that Sherlock can feel his heart literally breaking. 

  


The dream doesn't last for long though, before another one takes over. Sherlock is watching Mary and John dancing at their wedding, watching John's eyes as they gaze lovingly at Mary. Sherlock's song ends, and the newlyweds share a kiss, and then John is looking up at him, sorrow and pain, regret and remorse clear as day as he stares at Sherlock. John lets Mary walk to a guest and she begins chatting, while John goes to Sherlock. Sherlock feels John hugging him, and then whispering, 'I could never love you, you freak,' in his ear, before the shorter man pulls away, and returns to Mary, kissing her again. 

  


He dreams of nothing but John, breaking his heart over and over and over again, but he returns every time. He loves John, every time. He hopes John will love him back, but he never does. He doesn't wake until he feels a pair of strong hands shaking him. 

  


"Sherlock! Wake up!" John. That's John's voice. Is John back?

  


Sherlock tries forcing his swollen eyes open, desperately trying to reach, to see, John. 

  


"Sherlock, please," John whispers, a relieved smile momentarily making its way to his lips as he sees Sherlock's eyes fluttering open. 

  


"John? John!" Sherlock sits up, throwing his arms around John so quickly that it almost makes him dizzy. "I'm so sorry, John. Please. I didn't mean to hurt you, I wasn't thinking.  _Please_ don't leave me again. Please." He continues to plead as John grabs Sherlock's arms, slowly removing them from around his neck.

  


John pulls back, looking into Sherlock's eyes, still holding his wrists, "Sherlock, I am so sorry. I shouldn't have left like that, I just didn't know what do and I didn't want to make everything worse by saying something I might've regretted." 

  


Sherlock shakes his head as he tries to force his arms back around John, but he's stopped in his tracks by John's hands applying pressure. "John, it was my fault, I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean it, I'm sorry. Just... please. Please?" Sherlock isn't even sure what he's asking for, but he's hoping with everything he's got that John does. 

  


"But, Sherlock, you did mean it. That's why I left. You meant it so much and I didn't feel ready." 

  


"I know, I'm sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. Just pretend I didn't say it, okay? I promise I won't say it ever again, just please don't leave me. Please," he begs, momentarily forgetting to feel self-conscious or ashamed of how desperate he is. 

  


"Oh, Sherlock," John whispers, letting Sherlock's wrists wrap around him again. He feels his own arms snake around Sherlock's waist, pulling him closer, tighter against his chest. They stay embraced for just a moment longer before John pulls back again. He sneaks his right hand up to the side of Sherlock's face, noticing the stickiness of it, immediately understanding that Sherlock has spent the last 8 hours crying. His thumb gently strokes Sherlock's cheek, watching confusion plaster itself onto Sherlock's features. 

  


"Sherlock, I... I don't want to pretend you didn't say it. I don't want you to never say it again. God, Sherlock, I don't... I love you, too," he pauses as he hears Sherlock's breath catch, feels his body stiffen. He lets his eyes dart to where his thumb is still idly stroking his cheek. He takes in a deep breath before continuing, "I always have, I just didn't feel like I was ready to admit it until now. Sherlock, god, I am  _so_ sorry. I just-" but John is cut off by a wave of Sherlock's hand. 

  


Sherlock takes two deep breaths, letting his eyes close for just a second, before opening them and giving John a questioning, yet hopeful, look. "John? Do you... do you mean it? Truly?" Sherlock's eyes are glossy with tears, again, or still, is unknown by either of them. His eyes are boring a hole into John's, who smiles at him, nodding his head. 

  


"Yeah, Sherlock. I really do." He chuckles as Sherlock throws himself at John again, hugging the older man's neck with so much strength that he's scared he might actually hurt him. Yet again, John pulls back, wiping a tear from under Sherlock's right eye. "You know what I really want to do right now, though?" 

  


Sherlock quickly shakes his head, "What?" he whispers. 

  


"I really,  _really,_ want to kiss you. Can I, Sherlock?" John's eyes dart down to Sherlock's mouth, "Can I kiss you?" He asks Sherlock's lips more than Sherlock himself, but smiles so bright that it's almost blinding as he sees, before he hears, Sherlock's mouth form the words 'yes,' and 'please.' "Thank god," he giggles before slowly pressing their lips together. 

  


The kiss is sweet, so sweet it makes John's teeth hurt. He smiles into the kiss as Sherlock lets out a happy sob before opening his mouth, allowing John's tongue to slip in. Sherlock hesitantly allows his tongue to brush against John's, making sure everything he does, John consents. 

  


John groans, deepening the kiss as he sneaks a hand into Sherlock's curls, and gently pulls them forward. 

  


When the kiss finally breaks, they are both gasping for air, their foreheads resting against each other. Sherlock smiles down at John, who can't help but to smile back. The pair quickly fall into a fit of giggles, before they both lean in, lips meeting in the middle. 

  


"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that," John says, his mouth so close to Sherlock that Sherlock can  _feel_ the heat from John's breath. 

  


"I think I do, actually," he smiles before kissing the smaller man again. "I can't believe you came back," he mumbles, so quietly that John almost doesn't hear it. Sherlock sniffles before pulling him into another hug. 

  


"Wait, love. You thought I wasn't coming back? Ever?"

  


Sherlock hesitates, but shakes his head again. "No, I thought I ruined everything. I thought... I thought you never wanted to see me again. I thought I'd lost you," he admits, moving his head a little deeper into the crook between John's neck and shoulder. He feels John's arms tighten around him, and notices a single tear on the side of his face that isn't his own. 

  


"God, I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to scare you, I just needed a little time. I couldn't leave you permanently, even if I wanted to." 

  


"It's alright, John. I'm just glad you're here."

  


"Me too, love." John plants a soft kiss to Sherlock's curls, then truly notices Sherlock's position. He's wearing John's second favourite jumper, his favourite jumper discarded on his lap, so he was clearly holding it, and, most obvious, he's in John's bed, wrapped tightly in John's blankets, and was sleeping on John's pillow. 

  


John pulls away, a delicate smirk on his face. "I see you're wearing my jumper."

  


Sherlock looks down and feels his cheeks heat up as he shrugs his shoulders, "I... am, yes. I was... cold...?" He tries to sound convincing, and utterly fails. 

  


John laughs, getting off the bed and standing up. "I highly doubt you were cold, Sherlock. I think that maybe you missed me?" he teased, stifling a chuckle. 

  


"Yes, John. I love you more than I love life itself, because you are my life, my soul, my sun, my moon, and all my stars, and I missed you. Happy?" 

  


John lets out a hearty guffaw at Sherlock's embarrassed face before taking his hands and pulling him off the bed. 

  


"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked. 

  


John placed a quick kiss to Sherlock's already swollen lips before replying. "We are going to go fix ourselves a cuppa, and then you and I are going to build a massive fort in the living room, using these," John turned and yanked the blankets off his bed, and picked up the blankets that were folded in his closet, "and we are going to watch really, really bad daytime telly, and we are going to be. We're just going to be together... and I might kiss you. Many, many times. But, that's irrelevant. Does that sound good to you?"

  


Sherlock smiled, yet again blown away by John's ability to be so astonishingly fantastic. "That sounds perfect, John."

  


"Good. Let's go."

  


***************

  


30 minutes later, the boys could be found in a makeshift blanket fort, eating chocolate biscuits, sipping tea. 

  


"HE'S OBVIOUSLY NOT THE FATHER! LOOK AT HIS SHOES AND LOOK AT HER PURSE!" Sherlock exclaimed, turning to stare at John, who was laughing at his annoyed outburst. 

  


"Sherlock, love, we all know you're an amazing, fantastic, extraordinary genius, but we do have neighbours."

  


"Oh. Apologies. But, he's clearly not the father," Sherlock gasped as John closed the gap between them, plowing their lips together, John's tongue immediately licking Sherlock's bottom lip, begging for entrance. 

  


  


_"...is not the father!"_  


  


  


Sherlock broke the kiss, only long enough to say, "I told you so," before John chuckled and kissed him again. 

  


That night, they slept in Sherlock's room, too lazy to bring the mess of blankets back up to John's bed. Sherlock had nothing but peaceful dreams, and for the first time in months, John didn't dream. He didn't dream about Mary's death or Afghanistan. He just slept, his face buried in Sherlock's bare chest, his small frame securely held by the taller man's long arms, his legs tangled with Sherlock's. 

  


Two men, exhausted and desperate for the one another, finally having their wishes granted of being in the arms of the other. 

  


*****************

  


The next morning, John wakes up to Sherlock's eyes on him, full of love and adoration. 

  
"Good morning, love," John whispered, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's. 

  


"Mm. Excellent morning, John." Sherlock smiled and let his hands roam up and down John's bare back, subconsciously drawing silly patterns on his warm skin. 

  


Eventually, it was time for the pair to get out of bed, use the loo, and make breakfast. After doing their respective morning routines, Sherlock and John made their way to the kitchen, where John began cooking up a full English breakfast for them both. It wasn't an entire minute before Sherlock waddled over to John and wrapped his arms around the older man's torso, resting his head on his shoulder, and sticking his face in the warmth of John's neck, pressing idle kisses to the skin he found there.

  


"Sweetheart, as much as I love this, and trust me, I do, it's a bit tough to wander about a kitchen when you've got a second body attached to your back."

  


Sherlock sighed and let go of John, allowing him to walk to the cupboard where he grabbed two plates. When John returned to his spot in front of the stove, Sherlock clung to him again, in the same position as before, drawing a chuckle from John. 

  


When John finished making their breakfast, he put it all on a tray and brought it into  _their_ bedroom. They ate quietly in bed, not doing anything other than letting the sexual tension build up so high that Sherlock's ears almost popped. In time, they finished eating and as soon as John put his fork down, Sherlock piled everything onto the tray, and set the tray on the floor. John chuckled at Sherlock's urgency, but stopped rather quickly as Sherlock slammed their lips together. Sherlock moved, his new position allowing him to straddle John's thighs with his own, place his hands at either side of John's head, and quiet efficiently allowed him to grind his hips on the man below him. 

  


John growled into the kiss and before he knew what was happening, Sherlock was being flipped onto his back, John taking up the position he had been in just a moment ago. Sherlock tried to flip John, but he grabbed his wrists and locked them above Sherlock's head, preventing him from moving. John broke the kiss and stared down at Sherlock, who was silently writhing below him. 

  


Sherlock slipped his hands out from under John's, causing John to playfully yell, "Hey!" They soon began tussling, which quickly became full on wrestling. 

  


John grabbed hold of Sherlock's hands, threw one leg over his waist, seemingly have 'won.' 

  


"HA! I got you!" John triumphed, a sneaky grin plastered on his face. 

  


"Oh, that you did." 

  


John giggled, and they soon fell into a still moment, neither of them saying a word. It could have been thirty seconds or an hour that they stayed, looking into each other's eyes, before their lips met in a passionate kiss. Lips slid, teeth nibbled, tongues collided and danced against one another, hearts pounded against rib cages, hands roamed and grabbed, moans, groans, pants, and sighs filled the room. Clothing was ripped off and thrown onto the floor; John tore his shirt off and Sherlock took the momentary break of the kiss to suck a purple bruise onto the skin of John's neck drawing out a desperate moan from John, who quickly reconnected their lips. 

  


“God, I love you so much, Sherlock.”

The corners of Sherlock’s lips curled, his whole face breaking into an enormous smile as he snaked a hand through John’s hair and tugged him down, their lips only a few inches apart. 

“I love you, too, John.” 

John returned Sherlock’s smile, plowing their lips together again. 

  


  



End file.
